


Dying, with A Little Patience

by stabhappy



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 35,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stabhappy/pseuds/stabhappy
Summary: "After the torchlight red on sweaty facesAfter the frosty silence in the gardensAfter the agony in stony placesThe shouting and the cryingPrison and palace and reverberationOf thunder of spring over distant mountainsHe who was living is now deadWe who were living are now dyingWith a little patience"-T. S. Eliot
Kudos: 2





	1. The Burial of the Dead (x.1)

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS JUST MY OC SHIT FOR LIKE 2 PEOPLE TO READ AND IN 2ND PERSON, DON'T BOTHER

It’s never really cold in Georgia but you’re pretty sure it has to be well into fall, maybe even technically winter by now. It gets dark earlier, but, you think, at least it’s not as bad as up north would be. You used to keep a calendar around to try to keep an idea of _when_ you were, but once you made your way through most of it and things never got better, well… These days there’s no fucking point.

It’s cold enough you wish you could waste the gas for heat, but not bad enough you can’t bundle up more. Things have been quiet.

You kick the passenger seat from behind, “You asleep?”

“Not anymore,” comes the muttered reply, devoid of tell tale signs of having been sleeping. 

“Oh please, like you ever sleep in the car.” You punctuate your point from where you’re laid out in the back with a sharp kick to Ted’s headrest that knocks him forward, almost far enough to bounce his head off the glove compartment.

He spins to glare at you and says, voice low, “Fuck off, Brody.”

“My car, my rules.”

“If this is really yours and not something you found with the keys in the ignition, on the side of the road, I don’t know what to say.”

You pat the worn upholstery gently, “Don’t listen to him.”

Ted rolls his eyes at you and turns back to settle into the front under a pile of fleece throw blankets you liberated from Costco. With everyone pretty much dead, the suburbs have served you well. You made the mistake of trying to get back into the city while they were enacting quarantine measures and don’t plan on making that mistake twice. Ted’s been quiet as hell about what he was up to before you ran into him but like, he’s a skinny fucking nerd. There’s no way he was in the city when it happened, Atlanta’s a fucking meat grinder. Wrong turn and you’re absolutely fucked. 

Out here though? With two of you it ain’t shit. Even on your own it was manageable with less what-were-once-people, and way more shit and space to use to your advantage.

“I just don’t think sleeping in the car is a good idea,” Ted starts up again, “It’s not defensible. What if another storm comes through and there’s a swarm again?”

You both glance at the sky, an automatic reaction.

Ever since whatever led to The Outbreak went down, everything went a bit… weird. There’s the whole masses of the undead who routinely try to eat you alive, which is kiiiind of the big one and basically only part that matters to you. Ted seems convinced there’s more to it, but the only thing he’s managed to sell you on is the fucking weird ass weather. Not like, snow in the middle of summer kind of shit, but you get all this heat lightning and thunderstorms rolling through and the weird thing is, you think the zombies sort of follow in their wake. Ted suggested it ages ago and you told him he was an idiot, but now he points it out every time there’s a random wave of them and he’s sort of right.

When you suggested Global Warming caused the zombie apocalypse, he told you that you were the idiot, which was rude as hell because you’re probably right and he’s jealous you figured it out first. 

“It’s fine,” You wave him off, “If a storm rolls in we’ll hear it.”

Ted is so determined to catalogue this shit, make sense of it, but he won’t even say the fucking word zombie. You don’t know what the fuck happened and haven’t seen another living person besides Ted in what’s gotta be like, a month by now, so you just don’t get the point.

Also you’d played a lot of Call of Duty. You’ve seen every good zombie movie and way too many of the bad ones too. You know what a zombie is. 

Once when you were really bored you smoked the last of your weed and tried to explain the plot of 28 Days Later to Ted, but he kept insisting the zombies weren’t zombies, they were just sick, because he is a big fucking baby. Loves to pretend he knows so much shit but guess who is in denial about Global Warming zombies. He thinks it’s virus shit or some kind of biowarfare gone wrong, but that’s so 2000s and you’re over it. You can’t figure out the truth so why not make up something more fun?

Longingly, you wish you had not wasted explaining anything to Ted and enjoyed being stoned for the last time instead. It would be nice being stoned 90% of the time these days. It’s fucking boring so you might as well enjoy sitting around doing jack shit. 

The other 10% of the time would be extremely bad news to get caught high as fuck so it’s probably for the best. It’s not like you even knew anyone who lived out here. The urban sprawl around the city is fucking insane, so of course you know where people live in other suburbs but like… you squint at the back of Ted’s head. There is no way he would agree to driving an hour round trip to see if your old weed dealer’s apartment got ransacked or not.

But he doesn’t have to know that.

You perk up from your cocoon of blankets in the back, “Hey, we should check out this place like, 40 minutes from here.”

“What place?” This time he sounds less annoyed, more dazed, like you really did drag him from the cusp of sleep.

“This guy I knew’s place. I think he was a uh, doomsday prepper or something? I dunno. He kept supplies in his basement, but was psychotic about not letting anyone down there.” You plan to play this as dumb as possible. Finding his UV lamp set up and rows of dead marijuana plants is going to be suuuch a shock for both of you. But the sheer amount of vacuum sealed bags of shit stored down there will be the world’s greatest consolation prize.

“I bet there’s medical supplies.”

Pharmacies got ransacked fast once shit went bad. Finding nonperishable food is pretty easy given none of it is getting eaten. Meds… meds are hit and miss. Harder to find. Harder to identify. You’ve got a lot of the basics shoved in the trunk but Ted’s kind of neurotic about having antibiotics and whatever for emergencies. You have yet to need it so don’t see the big deal. It all has to be expired by now anyway, who knows if it’ll do shit.

You wait and tap the back of the seat, “Ted?”

“Mmm?”

“Cool, glad you agree.” You’ll hash it out in the morning. It’s probably a waste of gas but what’s the point of being alive if you can’t ever enjoy yourselves or do something fun.

Besides, the car is a safety measure. There’s a few houses around that you’ve got stuff stashed in, basic defenses around, but the suburbs being spread out has its downsides too. You’ve stripped all the residences around the safehouses for anything useful, put down anything not-quite-alive you found inside. You have to be able to get around, go further out, and bring back as much as you can. Siphoning gas takes time, but there’s plenty of it around. So many abandoned cars. 

Ted says the car is indefensible but it’s houses that give you the creeps, no matter how many times you sweep through them. Even the safe houses you’ve got set up. There’s too many fucking doors. Always another room out of sight where something could’ve found its way in and you won’t see it until too late.

You stare out the windshield and a big fat load of nothing happening in the street besides some leaves scuttling around like over-large insects, trapped in the ridges of a storm drain without enough wind to blow them free. God, you need some entertainment.

In the morning it’s not even hard to get Ted to agree. From how fidgety he is, you suspect he’s just as bored and restless as you are. Or he’s fucking cold and wants an excuse to keep the heat on. Whatever his reason, it makes it easier on you. 

The two of you haul out the shit you didn’t manage to get back to a safe house during daylight yesterday night, on the drives back and forth from the Saddle Creek strip mall. Navigating all the fucking abandoned cars on Route 120 makes it take ten times as long as it should, but it’s still better than traffic used to be so kind of a win. Plus there was a Goodwill with a shockingly good DVD selection, which you insisted on looking through in the case one day you find a generator, so you can use the power for the important things in life like making Ted watch all the good movies he never watched during Real Life.

Who the fuck hasn’t seen Terminator 2? That’s not some indie flick he could’ve missed. Whatever. This kid lived under a fucking rock. 

You top off the usual shit in the trunk -a few full gas cans, the siphoning pump and tubing, water bottles, food, and a stupid amount of bullets you found at Walmart for the rifle you keep in the backseat but don’t use much, spray paint to tag warnings on buildings or things to check out on return visits. 

“Video games really prepared me for this,” You elbow Ted and shake up the can of neon yellow paint, “Who knew the ability to mark important shit on world map UI would eventually apply to life?”

“Really survival of the fittest here, huh,” He lets out a huff of laughter under his breath and shuts the trunk with an audible thunk, “So where is this place?”

Ted seems like the kind of kid who grew up in John’s Creek, probably in the neighborhood you’ve been squatting in. Honestly you only headed this way because Fallon’s rich ass parents had a house in the suburbs and one time she invited you and Gert to some fucking… golf thing…? Her dad was in some rich white guy golf club or something. They had a party you snuck out of to smoke weed out back and the three of you stole a golf cart and crashed it in a lake.

You sneak a glance at Ted. You’re pretty sure there was at least one token Asian family there so everyone could assure themselves they were not racist, but you don’t remember ever meeting him so… probably not his. Either way you doubt he lived where you’re going. 

“Do you know where Clarkston is?” You ask lightly as you start the ignition.

He raises an eyebrow.

“I bet it’s a much nicer area now.”

“Great. That’s wonderful news. How did you know this person?”

Lies are best served with truths, so you assure him, “We smoked a lot of weed together. He’s super chill. Worst case scenario, he’s still alive and wants to hang out. It’s a neighborhood we haven’t been to because we’ve been sticking to the nice ones so there’s got to be plenty of shit around.”

His fingers tighten on the seatbelt across his chest.

“It’s a little more urban than I was expecting, is all. Higher population before the Quarantine...” His voice is cool, but Ted never seems to freak out when he gets stressed. Maybe it’s the whole bow and arrow thing, picking things off from afar before they get too close. Easier to control the situation. He’s fucking good at it too -kid definitely went to some private school with archery lessons or something instead of gym class. When he rags on you missing an easy shot, on the odd chance you bust out the gun, you can’t give him shit. He’s a fucking crackshot.

Comfortable in the passenger seat, he rifles through dusty CDs you snagged at Goodwill along with the DVDs. It’s his duty to curate the music selection, yours to drive. Also his to like, keep an eye out for trouble you can’t take care of while driving. Chief ain’t a fucking Hummer. If you don’t have to run something over, you don’t. Maybe one day you’ll upgrade to four wheel drive when the right unlocked vehicle with the keys in sight presents itself.

The sky is bright and clear, and you take it as the universe’s blessing upon Weed Quest.


	2. BEFORE: 1

ROADTRIP 2020  
  
Yooooo are you guys done yet?  
Gert  
Shut up not everyone can pee on the side of the road  
When tf did i do that  
Fallon  
We don’t enjoy spending time in gas station bathrooms any more than you like waiting outside them, baby bird. Gert’s washing her hands and I’m grabbing snacks.  
Gert  
I’m scrubbing my whole ass body, this place is nasty af   
i wanna get back 2 atl by 4 but you whining to stop at every gas station we pass on I-75 to pee is killing me  
We have been on this road for 3 and a half hours and i dont want to get stuck in the rain so ppl can drive like douchebags  
Gert  
Cry me a river bitch  
next time you pee on the side of the road  
Gert  
you think I won’t?  
Fallon  
I’m getting cheetos from the vending machine for you, you can thank me later :)  
love u fal, gert sux unless she gets me something too  
Gert  
how about a drink so we can bully you for needing to pee next  
get ur fat ass back here or im leaving u behind  
I’ve driven most of the trip  
Fallon  
Shhh, shhh. You’ll be fine. Just a little bit longer.  
Drop me at the hospital when we get back  
You’ll be working there in like 3 years or something anyway, you can suck up to everyone working there   
Fallon  
I don’t think you understand how long it takes to become a Doctor.  
4 years?? You to go college  
Gert  
nah man it’s like, 10. Fallon is never getting out of school for the rest of her life. How do you not know this  
I’m not a fucking doctor??  
Fallon  
It’s more than 10 if you count residency programs :’)   
how tf is ur brother a doctor then  
Fallon  
Ashley only got his doctorate last month Brody  
HE’S NOT A REAL DOCTOR? WTF??? HE SAID HE WORKED AT EMORY THO  
Gert  
Ok please just fucking shut up this is so stupid. i can’t handle your fucking dumb brain diarrhea after braving that bathroom. We’re coming back now.  



	3. The Burial of the Dead (1.2)

You make good time, even as you get closer and the streets get more precarious. Ted keeps the rifle with him up front, even though his aim with it isn’t really better than yours because you just… don’t fucking use it. It’s for long distance shots you can afford to make in terms of sound and distance and emergencies, but mostly for it’s bluffing if you run into other people.

The two of you haven’t laid waste to every zombie in John’s Creek, shit’s impossible. You’ve thinned the herd but don’t plan on drawing them to your fucking safe houses by shooting cans in the backyard.

Maybe it’s worth the risk to build some skill with it, you think, as you pull into the driveway of a house you haven’t been to since prepping for the whole high school graduation road trip with your friends. At least life as you knew it ended on a high note. Ha.

You kill the engine and the music cuts.

Sitting in silence, you motion to the house on the left.

“What’s on the front door?” Ted whispers, “Is it an eviction notice?”

“Nah, I was here like a month before shit hit the fan.” He’s right though -there some kind of paper plastered on the door. It’s a fluorescent neon yellow that even with some wear and tear still manages to hurt your eyes, but from here you can’t make out what’s on it.

“Do you think it’s a warning of some kind?”

You extend your hand and he gives the rifle over for you to sling over your shoulder, before adjusting the straps on his arrow… holder. You know that shit has a name but refuse to ask what it is. It doesn’t matter. He picks up the bow, checks his knife holster, and gives you a thumbs up. 

You’ve got some kind of machete-thing strapped to your leg that you found forever ago in a sporting goods store that you also don’t know the name of, but it looks dope as hell. Even Ted admitted it’s pretty cool. More practically for things besides murder, there’s also a sledgehammer you keep in the back that you’re gonna bash the shit out of the lock with. Maybe you should try knocking first? Whatever.

Once the two of you are all kitted up and have scouted out the surrounding area from the safe confines of inside a car, you make your way up the porch and check out the paper stapled on as Ted keeps an arrow notched. Nocked? It’s there. It’s fuckin ready to spear through brain tissue if he lets loose.

It’s not just a paper, it’s some kind of plastic sheet cover to protect it from the elements. Inside are a bunch of flyers. You take one out to inspect and are instantly grateful Ted cannot see it because it’s covered in fucking weed clip art drawings. In bold print, it proudly proclaims:

!!!!!!! NEW PREMISES !!!!!!!

LEAVING QUARANTINE AREA?

NO MORE 420 IN THE 404? NO PROBLEM

GET LIT OUTSIDE THE ATL

!!!!!!! CASH ONLY !!!! NO VENMO !!!!!!!

Well, shit. Below the memo is a map with directions to the new set up further outside Atlanta. It’s still suburb territory, you think, but not by much. You never left the city when it wasn’t probable suicide. Getting stranded out there? Fuuuuck no. 

_But the weed_ , whines the traitorous voice in the back of your head that is sick of playing things safe and apparently is ok with being eaten alive instead of being slowly devoured by ennui.

Ted still isn’t looking. Ted is playing things safe and keeping watch as you puzzle over the paper. Ted has a brain that is faring better in the zombie apocalypse.

“What’s it say?” He asks.

“It uh,” You start, “It says he moved to further out from the city. I’m guessing he packed most of his stuff up with him but we might as well check the place while we’re here.” You shove the paper in your pocket and pick up the sledgehammer after checking the lock, “Ready?”

“Sure.”

The resounding crack is met with the immediate sound of movement somewhere behind you. The twang of Ted’s bowstring takes care of the problem. 

“Any more?”

“Not close enough to justify losing an arrow but they’re heading over.”

You drop the hammer, shoulder the door open with machete in hand, and see shapes in the dark. Fucking blackout curtains, really?

“Flashlight.”

Ted shoulders the bow, points the weak ass wind up crank flashlight attached to his belt ahead of you as you step through the doorway with machete in hand. He grabs the sledgehammer and pulls it clear of the door before pulling it shut behind the two of you.

It’s quiet and still. No movement on the floor above you, triggered by the noise. Hell yes. Maybe this will be easy, even though you know it’s a fucking bust.

At this point you’re a solid fuckin team. There is a routine, you follow it, it works. Ted is annoying and not the kind of person who you would’ve chosen to spend the zombie apocalypse with. He’s scrawny and would live off expired twizzlers if he could. Even when you’re pissed you make sure not to call him a faggot, because he definitely is one so would get extra mad and at this point putting up with him is so much easier than not having him around.

But he’s way more capable than you would’ve guessed so it’s not a bad deal. Sometimes he reminds you of Fallon or Sascha because he’s a fucking nerd, but you don’t like to think about it because it’s depressing.

You make your way through the first floor, and eventually decide it’s clear, so block off the broken front door with a bookshelf. If something tries to claw in, you’ll hear it knock it over or scrabbling to push at it. The stupid things are so goddamn inconsistent you have no way of knowing if any of the ones in this neighborhood can knock it over even after you put the books back on. Mostly they’re the shuffling, semi-incapable variety. Very traditional. Unable to best the most simple tasks such as running, climbing, manipulating any objects besides their nasty fuckin claw hands and gross ass teeth. Surprisingly strong but not smart enough to use it to their advantage.

But there’s variety to it, and no fuckin tells beyond observation to warn you. Sometimes their brains are less fuckin mush and they can do shit you don’t expect, so you have to assume they all can. You almost got toasted by a fucking runner once. 

And that is why gay ass Ted is useful. Harder to get ambushed with someone watching your back.

The upstairs lacks the black out curtains that were the living room so you go through it faster. It’s in disarray, the victim of someone rushing to pack necessities more than a real moving process, or already ransacked by someone who had a key and locked up after themself. How considerate. More like they meant to come back later for another round but never made it.

“There’s still the basement,” Ted says, but you made sure the door to it was locked so there’s no urgency in his voice. He flops back onto the bed in the biggest bedroom and kicks off his shoes.

“Dude, there is so much dust on those sheets.”

He yawns, “I barely slept. I deserve a nap.”

“Whatever.”

The closet is full of clothes and a lot of junk, so as Ted dozes, you take your time going through it. There’s no way it’s gonna fit Ted. Kid’s like, what, 5’6” or something? You grab a few jackets and a pair of overpriced joggers and throw them on the bed next to Ted to try on later. No, what’s really important are the shoeboxes you found stashed on the floor. Homeboy was a sneakerhead and if they’re too big all you need to do is break into the CVS back in John’s Creek and get some insoles. This trip has not been in vain after all.

Halfway through trying way too many sneakers on you hear a door open downstairs. You freeze. Ted’s still passed on on the bed. The door to the hall is open.

Fuck.

The basement door was locked.

You should’ve fucking checked there wasn’t a _person_ down there. They had to have heard you go upstairs. Maybe they’ll try to sneak out the back, but maybe they won’t. You slip your shoes back on and grab Ted’s boots. Covering his mouth with one hand, you drop the boots next to him on top of the covers and tap his forehead. He startles awake fast -no one can afford to be a deep sleeper anymore. You pull your hand back and point out the door, then towards the floor. All his movements are efficient and quiet as he slides out of the sheets and shoves his boots on before the two of you head.

The two of you head to the top of the stairs. Ted goes to unsling his bow but you point to the flashlight again. It’s dark down there. Can’t aim if you can’t see. Plus it could blind anyone who decides to get violent for long enough to fuck them up. 

It’s never come to that, but first time for everything.

You’ve lost weight since the outbreak but you’re still tall as fuck. Even when people were desperate and things were all over the place no one wanted to fuck with you as much as make sure you didn’t want to fuck with them. Somehow you don’t think Ted got the same treatment. 

Once in a while you run into some lone wolf. Sometimes they run before you get close. Others want to talk a little, or ask if there’s anything you’ve got that you’re willing to trade. No one asks for favors without offering anything up, but honestly? People are surprisingly generous in bad times. There’s not a lot of trust, but there’s an understanding.

It’s like when a hurricane rips through and just destroys people’s houses. In the aftermath, the communities always band together to make sure people get water and help. It might not be the same and people don’t really have anything to give but… they try to reach out more than you expected. Zombie apocalypse movies show everyone ripping into each other but you’re pretty sure this has something to do with class warfare or something. You saw Snowpiercer, which of course Ted didn’t and you haven’t found a copy yet but he’s had to hear you talk about it several times and how it’s sort of the same.

He said something like “Your thesis is lacking” and claimed you only compared it because it was also sort of about Global Warming and were trying to trick him into agreeing with that theory again.

Point is, this person is probably fine and stressed out that _you’re_ gonna kill them if they startle you. Preparing for the worst, makes sense, but you’re not too worried.

You stand at the top of the stairs, squinting down into the darkness. Ted’s slightly behind you to the left, where he can see past and shine the flashlight if necessary. His other hand grips his side where you know his knife is. Preparing for the worst. You can spot someone’s shape by the bookcase, struggling to heft the sledgehammer in their grip. Ok. Not a great sign. Maybe they planned to bash your fucking brains in but they had to have heard both of you.

Maybe this is a job for the rifle. No one is dumb enough to try to charge someone with a sledgehammer, especially if they have a gun. And this close, even if they do, you definitely can’t miss. Hell yeah. You pull it over your shoulder, aim it low so it’ll be less threatening, and call out to them.

“Hey man, you need to borrow the hammer? That’s cool. Let’s talk. Didn’t realize someone was here.” 

The shape in the darkness does exactly what you don’t expect: the fuckin psycho hoists the sledgehammer and makes a mad dash at the stairs. Ted’s reflexes are insane, the flashlight’s up and aimed at their face to slow them before you lift the rifle an inch. 

“Holy shit.”

It’s not a person at all. You blow its knee out with a low shot, and it staggers on the bottom step, the weight of the sledgehammer making it buckle over. You take the steps a few at a time and bash the side of its head in with the butt of the rifle until it stops moving. 

“What the fuck.” It’s not a question. Ted repeats it a few times at the top of the stairs as you toe the body. Kicking it over for a better look, you breathe a sigh of relief.

Definitely a fucking zombie. Maybe a newer one, but the arm’s got a few tell tale chunks out of them. You know it was glassy eyed and slack jawed but - you lean over and continue kicking the body off and away from the stairs -well. That was new. Reloading the rifle, you wave Ted down and for the second time make sure the doors are all secure, before heading down to the basement to make sure the poor freak had no friends.

It’s devoid of life and… unlife? You call them the undead but Ted corrects you all the time to call them Infected. Same goddamn thing.

What it isn’t devoid of is the remnants of the old set up. There’s still some abandoned UV lamps and bags of dirt. Long tables. Most of it’s gone but there’s enough left that even if extra flyers weren’t littering one of the tables even sheltered rich kid Teddy could connect the dots. He points the flashlight at the papers long enough to get a good look but says nothing until you go back upstairs. 

“Funny how I didn’t see any doomsday prepping supplies,” he says, voice steady with laser focused annoyance at you, instead of worrying about a sledgehammer wielding zombie.

“Probably moved that stuff first,” You say, trying for wise or nonchalant or at least mildly convincing, “Left the extras. I mean, it had to have been early on since cash payment was still expected instead of like, bartering canned goods or some shit like that.”

Ted shakes his head, not buying it, but eyes the corpse spreadeagled by the foot of the stairs, “So that’s not…?”

You shake your head. “No idea who that was.”

“Probably some idiot trying to see if their dealer still had any weed left in their basement and got bitten in the attempt.” 

“No way,” you say, deadpan, “No one is that dumb.”

He stares at you with the kind of look your mom would give before slapping the back of your head, then points to your pocket.

“So you’re keeping the directions… why?”

“Homie brought his set up somewhere safer. After we ransack this place we should go check it out.”

“For doomsday prepping supplies.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Just checking.” The sarcasm is so palpable even if the dark you know he’s rolling his eyes.

After a long moment of quiet you ask, “Aren’t you fuckin’… bored?”

“Of what, being alive? If you have a nice, new death wish forming I’d like to be informed before it puts me at risk too.”

“What- No? Why do you think-” He puts up a hand, and in the dim light you half flinch away from sudden movement on instinct. “No. I don’t. But I’m bored and god knows you are not who I would like to spend every day of my life with.”

“Wow, thanks! You are so good at getting people on your side, you know that?” Ted throws his hands up in disbelief and goes back to playing with the taser he found in the junk drawer in the kitchen, with a bit more menace than when he first found it your second loop of the house. 

“Don’t pretend I’m your first choice for Apocalypse Pal either. It’s not a dig, dude. We kinda shore up each other’s weaknesses and shit. Balance things out. There’s a routine we’ve finessed enough that it’s not even hard so now it’s a fucking chore. Surviving is fucking tedious. Don’t you want to have fun? Once in a while life could be more than scraping by?”

You take a breath and continue awkwardly, “When the outbreak happened I was driving my friends back from this stupid road trip we planned as a graduation trip to ourselves. And it was good but the whole time I was stressed about real stupid shit like what if that was the last time we hung out because we drifted apart without high school keeping us together. It was dumb as hell but it ended up being true because now they’re dead. Should’ve focused on what I had in the moment and just had fun with my friends, right?”

Talking about personal stuff hasn’t come up. You never liked getting into that shit with your friends, and even with some time together, Ted doesn’t talk much about himself or his life _before_ either. Why bother? 

He shuffles, a little unsure in the outburst.

“I just mean- I dunno. I think it might be kind of fun? Go somewhere different and maybe see another fucking living person I actually know.”

“Your dealer,” he clarifies, “Who you want weed from.”  
“Yes. Yes, I want some weed! And human interaction. And something to do. And direction.”

He crosses his arms, but the gesture comes across thoughtful instead of defensive as he focuses elsewhere, not on you. 

“Agreed on one condition.”

“What’s up?”

“I pick the next outing. Also be upfront next time, asshole.”


	4. BEFORE: 2

BYE BYE ASSVILLE  
  
Gert  
Have you guys seen the jacuzzi in the bathroom yet  
no stop shitting so I can  
Gert  
No.  
Fallon  
are you almost done for real, i’m gross from being shut up in the car in this heat. Can i take a quick shower? I won’t wash my hair  
Gert   
anything for you Fallon  
go die  
Gert  
ANYWAY i’m hungry  
stop pooping so much and you wont be  
Fallon  
It doesn’t work like that.  
yeah it does  
Fallon  
It really doesn’t.  
Where are we stopping in bama? Louisiana is cool and I can think of plenty to do while we’re here but wtf do people do in bama besides fuck their cousins  
Gert  
fuck alabama. Straight to florida  
Fallon  
YES!!!! DISNEY WORLD!!!!!  
is ur dad rly gonna pay for that  
Gert  
Have you never been to her house?  
Bruh ive been there with u  
Gert  
Not in John’s Creek. The slave house  
uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh?????????????????????  
Fallon  
It’s an old plantation Brody.   
Gert  
You would not be asking if Fallon’s daddy could afford to buy us 20 dollar cheeseburgers 3x a day if u saw her pony in the flesh  
I wanna ride it  
Fallon  
F: NO!! You’d hurt her :( She’s half your size  
Gert  
like an elephant sitting on a rat  
am I alayah now  
Fallon  
you’re not pretty enough  
WOW  
Gert  
Eat shit uggo  
are u eating urs bc WHY ARE U STILL IN THE BATHROOM  
Fallon  
Awww brody you’re handsome, don’t be upset  
Fallon  
Alayah is a pageant queen, it’s different  
Gert  
nah u ugly bitch  
brb going to ask the next suite over if i can shit  
Gert  
DON’T I ALREADY SAW HIS DICK BY ACCIDENT  
Fallon  
explain  
don’t  
Gert  
are we ordering room service or going out  
Fallon  
don’t change the subject  
Going out  
Gert  
take ur shower and ill catch you up when we’re out  
Fallon  
I’ll press charges if we have to  
[](https://i.imgur.com/5LeOEMX.gif)  
Gert  
oh my gooood just shower this is so embarrassing  



	5. The Burial of the Dead (1.3)

“I don’t think this is it.”

“Why not?”

“Really?” Ted asks and gestures beyond the windshield. He has a point. It wasn’t far, maybe half an hour, but you had to take the interstate and it looks like it’s some kind of nature reserve. You were thinking Suburbs, not the fucking woods. There’s a big sign you spot further up, and slow the car into a rolling stop to see the giant cedar sign, recessed into a short stone wall proclaiming  _ Panola Mountain State Park _ .

The wall has a low iron gate, padlocked shut and closing off the one road leading into the woods. Maybe other entrances exist on different parts of the highway, but hell if you know how big this place is or where to find them. At least there’s probably maps you can find somewhere, if they haven’t disintegrated in the rain. It’s kind of wild how fast things just… fall apart. There’s little around still, but without more being produced constantly, it’s the suburbs that look shittiest: pristine lawns left to seed, slowly being reclaimed by nature is sooo against HOA rules. 

Ted joked about getting a push mower from Home Depot to keep the safehouses in better shape, maintain some amount of upkeep, which sounded great except the part where it painted a fucking target on where to find all your shit and get robbed by anyone opportunistic or desperate enough who might find their way into John’s Creek. Maybe if you were only keeping up with one place, or had more people to keep an eye out, or a Home Alone level of sadistic booby trap skills. Alas. You settle for a more practical question instead of silly fantasy:

“Ever been here?” 

“Yeah,” Ted says, “As a kid I came a few times for archery lessons at the range, but it was way more casual than my parents wanted so… I stopped pretty fast. They had bows they provided though. I’m down for checking things out to grab a few in better condition, and any arrows I can get my hands on. Just don’t expect your dealer to be here. There’s an event area, but mostly everything here is outside. Picnic areas, a pavilion, camp sites...”

His eyes light up at a sudden thought.

“Did your dealer have an RV?” He leans in, intent, like this is life changing information. Like the correct answer, which he wants to be ‘yes’, is the Disney World of the apocalypse.  
“Not that I know of,” You hesitate, “Didn’t know you were so passionate about that. You seem, like, _really_ into this idea.”

She shakes his head, like he’s dislodging the thought, “Imagine if there was still water. Imagine… a hot shower.”

The two of you sit in contemplative silence.

In the aftermath of a few minutes, you change your tune. “He could’ve had one. We should check. If not him, maybe someone else thought it’d be a great idea to hang out in the woods without other people to try to eat their faces off.”

There’s a tentative excitement building even though this is hands down the stupidest shit the two of you have gotten into. Once, before Ted was around, you purposefully baited a bunch of zombies into a supermarket that you set on fire after. Didn’t really think about the hypothetical situation of if any of them got out as the building went down, but could still move.

While on fire. 

Ted’s seemed so practical you never mentioned the sort of cool but also deeply embarrassing event, but as you turn the wheel to pull off the interstate and check out whatever is in here, you decide to share the story. The road turns to gravel long before you get to the gate blocking things off, but you see a building nestled in the trees ahead. 

“Basically this can’t be worse than zombie arson,” You sum up your story, to assure him.

Without missing a beat and deadpan as anything, Ted drops his own idiot mischief, “I know how to make bombs from household chemicals and powdered sugar. I blew up The Obelisk. In Decatur Square. Seemed kind of fucked up that it outlasted… people.”

“Wow, way to one-up me. Vandalism with morals. And explosions.” You give him a light shove and he laughs before slipping out the passenger-side door. 

“Let’s go car shopping when we get back,” Ted says as he pats Chief with the closest thing to affection he’s ever leveled at your well-loved, and well-used, baby, “Find a Jeep for urban forest off-roading. Dirt bikes seem like a bad idea.”

You scoff, “Okay, let me know how that goes without keys.”

“I can hotwire a car,” He informs you as if you’re stupid for not knowing, despite literally never bringing this up, “As long as it’s not an electric keyfob we’re set.”

The two of you grab the usual safety measures from the car, and you haul the backpack with water bottles and snacks because even some fucking granola bars will probably snap Ted’s back in half.

When you reach the park ranger HQ building by the entrance, it’s unremarkably empty and useless, though you  _ are  _ lucky enough to find some faded maps, protected from the worst of the weather and sun. Campsites and scattered buildings seem like the best choices for where your weed guy might be set up, so you 

As you approach the Nature Center, things look better kept than you expected, given the suburban neighborhood lawn issues. But this place is in the woods, grass choked out by lack of sunlight and sunlight choked out by bigass trees, with lots of mulchy tree shit all over the ground and years of people and probably animals making paths past the point of parking lots and sidewalks and bridges further in. Ted points out much of the rest of the park is less wooded, and the two of you can spot Panola Mountain through gaps in the treetops.

Before getting closer to the building, the two of you huddle over the map. Ted points to where you’re going and tells you the bad news: After clearing this area, it’s like, two miles away to the other areas. 

“There might be rental bikes around,” He suggests, “And the big path across the park is paved. It’s only nature trails in a couple areas so people can’t fuck up the local ecosystem.”

“This trip is gonna take for fucking ever dude. If there is no one here and no zombies, we are taking the car to see if the other entrances,” you wave the map for emphasis, ''aren't locked up. No way we’re getting back in time if we give this place a serious one over and actually find him. We sleep in the car again, in the parking lot. I do not want to get caught on the side of the road by some Mad Max road warrior psychos.”

Agreed, you circle the Nature Center, trying multiple locked entrances. Knocking produces no results, and you can’t see anyone -or anything -through the windows. The picnic pavilions are abandoned -your walk up to the building was decorated with all the extras like 4 separate pavilions and a playground. 

“So this entrance was a bust,” Ted says, “And nothing else is even close so why don’t we double back to the car and-” He’s interrupted by the wet noise of a body hitting glass behind you, and jumps away from the window before even turning to see the zombie inside. Your running around and knocking must’ve stirred it up. There’s more shapes behind it making their way towards the window, indistinct in the unlit building and filtered through the bodily fluids dripping down the window thanks to this asshole body slamming it.

“Back to the car,” Ted demands, and you follow after him towards the gate.

But you barely make it past the playground to see a few more milling about in the direction of the entrance.

You curse loudly, which earns their attention, and an elbow in the side from Ted.

“New plan: bike path. Grab bikes if we can. Run on three.”

When you make it off the road, past the parking lot, there’s one bike but the chain’s so badly mangled it’s not worth the waste of having stopped to check it. Two miles isn’t terrible. You def walk this much in John’s Creek, but it’s less trees and open space, and more fences to hop. Familiar territory. Once you outpace the zombies, it’s a matter of checking out the next area, then booking it back here and hoping they fucked off.

Ted seems more nervous.

“What,” he worries, “if we get held up over here and can’t make it back before it gets dark?” 

You laugh, “Unless you plan to lose a leg, there is no fucking way it will.”

He frowns, serious again in the face of an indeterminate amount of zombies while trapped in a forest. Fair, you guess. 

“Just wait, you’re gonna trip and sprain your ankle or something.”

“Then you climb a fuckin tree and shoot me after I get bit so you can get the keys Ted. Pretty simple.”

He continues to be unamused, but focuses on the trees and shit surrounding the deserted path. Eventually he pipes up to ask for a water bottle, but the two of you walk in silence for a long time. At least nothing can sneak up on you in the surrounding area. There’s wind in the trees and the occasional animal sounds you hear, but never spot anything living or otherwise on the path.

When the path forks, he pauses, not to consult the map because it’s easy as fuck to tell where you’re going, so you linger too.

“The infected who picked up the sledgehammer-” He says, stops, starts again “They opened a locked door. I know it’s unlikely, and these people have probably been here so long they don’t have any fine motor skills left, but it will be even worse if the ones in the Nature Center got out. They could’ve bashed through the window, even.”

“We’ll worry about that if there isn’t a sweet RV waiting for us by the campsites,” You clap Ted on the shoulder, “One thing at a time.”

He stares pointedly at your hand, and you peel it off. Okay then. 

But it’s easy to see from the trail that all the campsites have been long abandoned. Checking the map, there’s only one building left by the other entrance to the park. 

“If he’s here… that’s gotta be it.”

“No offense but you don’t know he wasn’t in the Nature Center.”

As the two of you bicker quietly, you almost pass the trail going off the side of the paved pathway. It would’ve been unremarkable, if not for what looks like tire ruts gouging into the dirt, leading off into the trees.

“Oh, shit.”

Ted rests a hand over his mouth and admits after a pause, “Those look pretty new.”

“They’re small, like an ATV. Looks like the RV theory is out but… this trail isn’t even on the map.” You give it a once over again.

“Well it isn’t new, only the tire tracks are.” 

“Maybe it’s for Park Rangers. Something for wildlife observation deeper in, or something?”

He looks skeptical, gives you a shrug, hops off the path, and hurries down the gentle slope to the trees as you trek after him. As you go further in, you can easily spot a clearing ahead, and some kind of structure. Ted looks instantly more relaxed, which you don’t understand because the last bunch of buildings were occupied in the worst way, until you see something on the ground.

It’s a bright red kayak, overturned to show the hole someone tried and failed to patch in the bottom. Outliving its old use, someone dragged it here for a new purpose: signage. There is a badly painted leaf, a smiley face, and an arrow pointing ahead.

“I think we found your guy,” Ted says in amused surprise, “Hopefully still alive.”

You raise an eyebrow and toe the boat, “I dunno, that looks nothing like a pot leaf. It’s just a leaf-leaf.”

“Do you have to turn everything into an argument?”

“I’m not!”

Ted points at the kayak, “We are in a forest, why the fuck would they draw a leaf on it as part of directions? There’s leaves everywhere!”

“I’m just saying-”

“Oh my god! Shut up! Just shut up!”

He throws his hands up and stomps down the path, but when you whisper yell at him to be quiet or he’ll get attention he only crunches the leaves and pine needles louder underfoot. Ted quiets down faster than you can hurry over to try to make him, as the clearing gets closer, trees opening to an area secluded from the rest of the park. 

You hug the edge of the trees, unwilling to cross the boundary.

Ahead is what you think Fallon’s family would imagine camping to be. Before the outbreak, they had to have rented this spot for crazy money. The structure you spotted through the trees is some kind of gazebo-tent hybrid. It’s ugly as shit, wrapped in olive green tarps that might be decent camoflauge if the front wasn’t made up of floor to ceiling glass windows and a door. Also if it weren’t on a giant cedar porch. With a huge fire pit surrounded by lawn chairs. And a grill. Stored on the dock, overlooking one of the many small lakes or rivers of the park, are several kayaks of matching red to the inventive signage down the path. 

The final touch are all the hammocks strung around and with string lights above, all throughout the patch of trees by the lake. 

There’s a large wooden structure next to the big ugly tent, comprised of stairs leading up to a landing with a huge black container of some kind and a man laying next to it with-

“Gun,” says Ted and you yank him back by the collar with you behind a tree. Where the two of you stood explodes into tree pulp with a sharp crack.

There isn’t a second pop, but you take advantage of the quiet to admonish Ted.

“This is  _ not  _ pot-leaf behavior.”

He scowls, “You are so annoying. Wave your hands around in the air.”

Like you’re willing to get your arm shot off?

Instead, before you can even attempt to start yelling from afar that you’re just here for the weed, the front door of the big ass tent thing opens and some skinny ass kid does the yelling for you.

“Get down here and stop shooting at people right now Cole. You’re gonna scare them.”


	6. BEFORE: 3

DIDNEY WORL  
  
Gert  
where are u  
we need u  
BRODY  
hmmm now u know how it feels when you take 50 year long shits huh  
Fallon  
i know for a fact you’re not in the bathroom. I saw you flirting with Jessica Rabbit.   
Gert  
who tf is jessica rabbit  
can’t believe this whole time u were a furry and never came out of the fur closet to us, your friends.  
your best friends. Fake as hell  
what?? She’s not even a fucking rabbit dumbass. She’s the big titty hoe  
Gert  
bonding with your own kind  
Fallon  
Brody come buy us drinks, no one is going to think Gert or I are old enough  
They are going to card me too  
Gert  
Then show them ur big titties, hoe  
what tf is wrong with u  
Gert  
get me a drink if u want me to shut up  
show them ur big ass, bitch  
can we go to animal kingdom once u guys are wasted so i can convince gert to climb a fence and fight a kangaroo  
Fallon  
no  
we can’t get kicked out yet  
I booked us reservations at the spa later  
Gert  
can’t wait to get exposed to the mickey mouse massage prostitution ring  
Fallon  
that is NOT the kind of spa this is!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
Enough. Let’s be done with this and move on to underage drinking before I change my mind please :)  



	7. The Burial of the Dead (1.4)

“Sorry it’s not colder,” says the only real adult in the group, as he pours what has to be sweet tea for everybody, “We manage alright here, but we don’t have any ice.” Like anyone does.

You and Ted sit on one side of the picnic table, the residents on the other. Hunched over the table grumbling into his own mismatched glass of tea is the guy who shot at you: Cole. He’s like a million feet tall and a fucking albino so naturally he’s survived the apocalypse to be a fucking creep ass bitch and try to kill people. He is not happy about being forced to let you live. 

He looks barely older than you up close. Fucking psychopath.

Besides him it’s two other white guys. The skinny kid in a Hawaiian shirt and crocs who yelled at Cole seems ecstatic to have visitors. He semi-successfully bullied a half-assed apology out Cole before the third guy came out from who the fuck knows where to make sure everything was fine, then act like you stumbled across their picnic and were welcome to join in. They would’ve shot you if they planned to kill you, so the tea has to be safe enough. Why waste it? 

“Cole is a little excitable about keeping a defensive perimeter, and you weren’t the guests we expected.” He continues calmly, setting out plates, “I’ll grab something to eat. Then we can talk.” He gives the two of you a small smile and heads back to the ugly tarp-tent.

Ted sips at the sweet tea but doesn’t say anything. These people are being awful nice, given they could’ve made it simple, shot you, and not felt compelled to make you lunch. You look over to Ted, try to catch his attention and get some feedback for how you’re playing this, but he seems more interested in sneaking glances around the campsite and at your hosts.

Across from you, Cole does not touch his sweet tea, which is ungrateful as far as you’re concerned. The kid isn’t bothered and sees it as an opportunity to swap their glasses after draining his own at light-speed. 

“How’d you find us?” He asks.

“Wait until Greg gets back,” Cole snaps, “I don’t want to deal with having this conversation twice. I can’t believe we’re entertaining this.”

The kid ignores him and settles for introductions instead.

“I’m Klaus. That’s Cole. He’s cranky right now, or he’d feel real bad about trying to shoot you.”

You really, really doubt that. Cole’s face is stuck in a horrible grimace that confirms you’re on the same page, regardless of if Klaus is.

But you settle for niceties anyway, and introduce yourself and Ted as the other guy, Greg, comes back with food. Real food. You stare at thick slices of bread with strawberry jelly, and several whole fish that you guess were roasted over the fire pit.

“Help yourselves,” he says and sits down. Cole and Klaus grab food like this is normal. No wonder they were unimpressed by sweet tea. What the fuck? This isn’t just awkwardly bumping elbows, or trading extra goods. This is like, actual hospitality like the world didn’t end and zombies could pile out of the forest to eat you at any second.

“Are we allowed to talk now?” Klaus asks. Cole is too distracted by watching Ted pile a solid inch of jelly on his bread to interrupt, but not to be snide. His expression is beyond unimpressed. Klaus doesn’t notice or is too used to it to comment, instead he points to the older guy and reiterates that his name is Greg.

Despite the fact your brain has classified him as Adult Guy, he can’t be all that much older than you or Cole. Late twenties? Early thirties? Old enough. Considering he lives in the picnic oasis of hell, it makes sense he doesn’t look as tired or stressed as you expect of people these days. For fuck sake, dude doesn’t even have a beard. He’s been shaving through the apocalypse. 

It’s not just him though. Everyone looks clean cut, and well, clean in general. You feel a jolt of embarrassment at the realization, because you and Ted are grimy as hell. Not everyone has a fucking lake. 

Before Klaus has the chance to ask why you’re here again, you pull the wrinkled flyer out of your pocket and slide it across the table. With real, actual cooked food you are ten times less interested in anything else besides eating it, which includes talking. 

Klaus sees the paper, points, and beams, “I made that for my cousin!” He is so proud of himself. How precious.

Cole looks like he wishes he shot you, but like, more than he already did. “You came here for _weed_?” he asks with a sneer after pulling the flyer closer to get a look. First visitors to make it alive, you guess.

“No,” you say, as Ted at the same time says “Yes” through a thick chunk of jelly.

“Sort of,” you hedge around, but focus on Klaus instead, “I’m guessing your cousin is uh… not around if he’s skipping meals.”

“Yeah, not long after we came out here. He thought the woods would be empty but you’d be surprised at how many of those things were swarming here. Don’t really understand why people were hiking during a pandemic or whatever it was. I mean. Nevermind, you’ve seen it.” He scratches at his chin idly, not making eye contact.

Ted abruptly switches gears, “You have fresh bread.”

Greg gestures at the big ass tent, “There’s a wood burning stove inside the yurt. It’s been a learning curve but we have plenty of time and luck to figure things out.”

“What the hell is a yurt?” You cannot stop yourself. Fuckin. Yurt. You bet your ass this is some Coachella level bougie camping with the veneer of sleeping in a teepee or something.

Cole points and helpfully answers, “That. The building.”

“Thank you,” Ted says sweetly before you can get in a dumb argument about this, and takes the lead of the conversation, “We’ve been living right outside the city in an area that’s us and the infected. We didn’t expect to see anyone out here, but the flyer made it worth the trip. Are you growing things here?”

“Yes. There’s another clearing-” Greg starts, but Cole interrupts him. He pushes himself to his feet and slams the heels of his hands on the table.

“You cannot be serious. Don’t tell these people anything! Why should we trust them?” He jabs a finger across the table at the two of you, “We don’t have any drugs, so you can leave. Now.”

Some people, like Cole, have Resting Bitch Face. Greg does not, despite everything in existence being enough justification, and instead has this permanent dreamy smile like he enjoys post apocalyptic yurt life in the woods. He hasn’t said “namaste” and is wearing sensible hiking boots instead of going barefoot, so he’s not on your shit list yet. But you’re waiting for it.

He stands up to put a gentle hand on Cole’s shoulder, “There’s no reason to burn bridges with people who haven’t done us any wrong.” 

Ted cuts in smoothly, “There’s plenty of things I bet you don’t have easy access to that we do. Non-perishables, batteries, clothes, tools… We have a car and could come back another time to trade.”

Cole sits back down at Greg’s behest, but crosses his arms, “No. We don’t want anything from you.”

“He’s mad because of the Georgia Tech douchebags,” Klaus says cheerfully as Greg winces at his choice of wording, “But I need new shoes so please ignore him.”

Cole startles in confusion, the only concern he’s shown about this kid’s fucking crocs, “What’s wrong with those ones I found? You said they fit. I thought you liked them.”

“It was really nice of you,” Klaus says without a trace of irony, “But it’s kind of cold now.”

Cole attempts to insist he will track down a fucking pair of boots while Klaus and Greg humor him, way too fond of this fucking murder guy’s shoe quest. You quickly gather that the crocs were looted from a fucking zombie, like a hunting trophy. Imagining a nasty fucking pair of boots found the same way… no amount of washing them could would be worth it unless the other option was frostbite. At least crocs are a plastic hunk.

Maybe Cole’s a little right to be trigger happy, because these two would get eaten alive without someone watching their naive backs. They like HIM. Global warming might not have turned them into mutants but it scrambled their fucking brains. 

“What’s the deal with Georgia Tech?” Ted leads back around.

Greg frowns and taps his fingers on the table, gathering his thoughts before explaining.

“You said your area is cleared out of living people, but there’s a lot more life in the city than you realize. Not everyone is quite... friendly. We tend to get ignored. It’s a secluded area and not many people think it’s worth looking into, but you came up the path, so must’ve seen the tire tracks. There’s a group of young people from Georgia Tech who’ve watched too much Mad Max and didn’t understand the point. They’re fighting with the gated community up the interstate and now trying to run a protection racket, because we’ve traded with both of them in the past.”

Greg’s easy going expression flickers, smile thinning. “Local politics.”

So your theory about Cole keeping these suckers alive through pure over-aggression proves true.

“A gated community as their rival though?” It’s hard not to be amused by the summary of the whole thing, as much as you know a bunch of annoying nerds are worse than the undead, “Not even Emory U? Feels more classic.”

But it’s Ted who chimes in next, “Emory got wiped out. The hospital’s part of their campus, and the CDC is up the road. They got fucked first.” Ted mentioned Decatur Square earlier, which isn’t far from that area either. You wonder just how close he was to this all when shit fell apart. He seems almost pleased by the news, “I can’t believe Georgia Tech students survived en masse, their campuses are almost neighbors.”

Cole frowns and says, “It’s a bunch of Yellow Jacket meatheads.”

Ted rolls his eyes, “Those meatheads go to one of the best engineering schools in the country. I’m guessing it’s a mix of skills.”

“They’re frat boys,” Cole snaps, “I don’t care if they’re engineers. They’re running around in armored _golf carts_ and football gear like this is all one big joke to them.”

“They’re rich kids who never locked their doors and had floor to ceiling glass windows,” You shoot the fucking yurt a steady look, “What do you expect?”

“I think,” Greg interjects, “The point was to give some context for Cole being jumpy. You’re unaffiliated with either group stirring the pot, and none of the other problems in the vicinity. You’re welcome to stop in with or without something to trade.”

He taps the flyer, pinned to the table by an extra fork, and apologizes with amusement. “I’m sorry to tell you that we’ve been focusing on the essentials and can’t help with this.”

“It’s not a priority,” you say, and look to Ted for a response. He settles for a placid shrug, but you can tell he’s distracted.

Greg asks Cole to help him clean up, and as they take the take of dishes away, along with leftovers, Klaus leans over the table to tell you, conspiratorially, “My cousin’s supplier is up the road, before you get to the Southern Oaks Estates. Greg’s not gonna bother to ask because it’s the opposite direction from where you guys came from, but I’ll tell you where the Coopers live, _if_ you promise to go ask them at the Estates to get the frat boys off our necks.”

Without thinking you blurt out, “Deal.”


	8. BEFORE: 4

ROADTRIP20-2MORROW  
  
Fallon  
TOMORROW!!!!  
How excited are y’all? :)))  
0% bc i dont want to drive for like a month  
I changed my mind trip cancelled  
Fallon  
I can drive  
Gert  
NO  
NO  
I bet ur only texting bc ur like crying over only seeing ur brother for a week before doing something much more fun with ur friends than hang out with that nerd  
Fallon  
If Sascha was going to college far away you’d understand :(  
lol no  
And he’s not going away he came BACK  
Fallon  
What about if YOU went away, and then couldn’t see Katie or your mom?  
I would be fine with that  
Gert  
Yeah right i bet you’d facetime katie every day   
Plus you can’t take ur asthmatic old ass dog away from his home. You’d cry saying goodbye to Chief alone. You would cry every day. You would facetime ur mom and cry if u heard him bark in the background. Dont act hard  
bro that’s my dog… it’s completely different  
Fallon  
hmmm, is it though?  
bitch if ur trying to say Chief isn’t a real dog again i swear  
Gert  
what did u call her  
Sorry  
Gert  
I fuckin thought so  
Anyway bitch ur gonna have plenty of time to see ur brother when we get back so get hype for this now and then get hype to see him again when we get back   
excuse me what did u say  
What word  
Gert  
Did I stutter  
Fallon  
I am excited!! Don’t worry. And I’ll say bye in the morning so it’ll be ok  
bruh we are getting up early as hell  
Fallon  
He’s a morning person, he’ll be up  
Gert  
proves he’s not human at all  
agreed  
Fallon  
Don’t gang up on me I’m sad  
ok  
Gert  
Don’t fall for her shit pussy!!!   



	9. The Burial of the Dead (1.5)

In the Post Outbreak World, you do not observe daylight savings time. You didn’t understand it before, why hold onto that kind of useless baggage? You do have a watch though. Analog, baby. Don’t understand how the fuck clocks work but you got a fancy ass watch you could probably kill someone with, because designer is free now and for some reason fancy watches are the size of bedazzled tarantulas made of steel. The public library has that huge clocktower outside it, so it was easy to have that routine again, once you had the goods.

Now you’re used to it, but in the early stages it was hard not being able to check your phone. Checking the time, along with the much more important instagram notifications, was second nature. Grounding. Ironically helped to pass the time, when you had a concept of it. 

Timing things when you can’t talk is way easier with a watch to reference. Ted may not have been into the idea of trying to find a rolex, but that’s probably because his tiny girl wrists would snap in half beneath the weight. If he wants some boring piece of shit he can actually lift, good for him.

Silence isn’t a necessity right now, but you find yourself quiet all the same. You tap your watch.

“It’s barely past one. We made good time so if we don’t have any issues getting back to the car, it’ll be like, what? An hour? That’s if we’re slow and need to snipe a few freaks.”

“They were people once, Brody,” Ted says lightly.

“You know how you said I was being contrarian?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t use that word.”

“Not today. Point is I don’t think you give much of a shit about a bunch of half corpses that try to kill you every chance they get, every day of your life. So you can stop pretending to be sensitive about them as an excuse to fight with me, you fucking hypocrite.” Your whisper gains volume, puzzling Ted more than irritating him.

“Is there a reason not to talk in a normal voice?” He nods towards the ugly tent (you’ve decided not to call it a stupid name, and also are trying to ignore its existence because figuring out how the fuck these morons are alive in a half-glass tent is too much), “They’re cleaning up and I don’t think they care about the time.”

“We can check in with those people Klaus knows, figure out what they want for weed, and go back home. Plenty of time left today. Come back with stuff to trade, go say hi at that gated community for these dweebs, and be on our merry way back to John’s Creek to get high as shit.” It’s all shit Ted knows, but hashing it out now instead of later only to find there was a miscommunication leads to…

Well it led here, but that was a best case scenario. You muse further on better scenarios instead. “You think if we give these guys enough shoes and find cocoa powder they’d make us brownies?” Fucking bread… How the fuck do you make bread? It can’t be that different from brownies.

It’s not a joke, not really, but Ted laughs like it is. He understands your point though, and doesn’t object. Looks like Weed Quest is still on. 

  
  


When your hosts return, you’re quick to get to the point. 

“Klaus said you could use a hand with reaching out to the folks down the road.”

There is a pause, and not the surprised kind where it ends with someone accepting your kind offer of help with grateful tears in their eyes. Greg and Cole exchange quick glances. Cole looks like how his face has looked the entire time, so not much to pick up there, but Greg looks… tense. Like you’ve said the wrong thing.

“They have a car,” Klaus pipes up, as if this cancels out whatever he has failed to mention.

Greg spotlights Klaus with a look that oozes  _ I’m disappointed in you _ energy, which the kid has enough sense to pretend to look ashamed of himself for the duration of, but not a moment longer. He starts slowly, as if unsure how to explain. “I didn’t ask you to get involved because it’s not fair to you, or if I’m being honest, worth your time.” 

Ted raises an eyebrow, but as they’re practically invisible it’s likely no one else noticed. You step in to ask, “Is there… more to this?”

Greg shakes his head, “No. It’s straight forward. But it’s not your problem, and there’s nothing to gain. You two are young,” His eyes rest on Ted and you don’t blame him for assuming he’s fragile and pathetic because you did yourself, “And I won’t encourage you to get involved with two groups that are engaging in violence against each other, without sympathy for anyone in the middle. Klaus thinks this is about picking sides and asking nicely. It’s not. It’s about assimilation.”

“If they have demands, we can pass them on,” You say.

Ted has his own ideas, and apparently reservations, “What exactly is going on with the other group? The gated community.”

“They’re not showing up with armored cars and threatening us,” Cole says, and then more approvingly, “Not like the Yellow Jackets. They’re civilized.”

Greg shakes his head, “It’s a group of people who’ve taken up in a gated community, Southern Oaks Estates, not far from here. No idea if they always lived there, or settled in after. They’re interested in numbers, resources, whatever they can get their hands on; and they’re interested in playing ‘nice’ by making offers that benefit them, then backing you into a corner so you can’t refuse. 

“I’m not concerned about them regarding us -we’ve spoken, I know what they want. But that’s from us. If you show up there’s no guarantee they won’t try to ‘negotiate’ with you for something too. Maybe it will be as simple as information on your area, and I suggest lying if it is. Don’t tell them anything, don’t give them anything- not without getting something in return. Those are bargaining chips they will try to get out of you for free.”

Ted pushes further, “So they’re not violent, or likely to take our shit and ditch us?”

“Not likely,” He agrees, but his brow furrows, “But their goal is to return things to normal. That’s ambitious at best for a group of people without institutional power or structure. Despite being impossible to deliver on, they have a following of people and a safe stronghold. That worries me.”

“We all know everything is ruined,” Cole disagrees, “And I don’t see a problem with some people trying to maintain order in this mess. It’s every man for himself, why not try to rebuild?”

“I think they’re nice.” Klaus adds helpfully.

Ted looks thoughtful, as he works out an angle, “So we’re safe if we’re nobodies who aren’t a threat to their control of the area. Don’t have  _ too much _ , but also have something to give.” 

“Yeah,” Klaus says.

Cole nods his approval as well, but Greg shrugs, outvoted, and says, “Maybe.”

“How far away is this place?”

They sketch out directions in the dirt with a stick. Ted lounges in the wooden lawn chair he’s curled up in, overlooking the crappy map, as you listen to the important bits.

“That’s plenty of time to get back then. If we run into trouble and it takes longer, we’ll find someplace out of the way, park, and sleep in the car,” You say, more to verify with Ted than respond to them.

“Don’t,” Greg says, firm for the first time, “Maybe you can get away with that in your part of town, but you can’t here, not this close to the city. It’s not only the Yellowjackets and the Estates who are causing trouble out there. They’re organized, but there’s been trouble besides them.”

“I already told them about the Coopers,” Klaus chimes in helpfully.

Greg seems less worried about these people than the Estates folks. He scratches absently at the side of his face, “I’m sure they’d let you stay. They might be a little... odd, but they’re plenty hospitable.”

Cole, however, is the one to raise the alarm, “They’re freaks.”

“They’re nice!’ Klaus insists.

“You think everyone is nice,” he snaps back. “Mrs. Cooper told me that everyone who died deserved it.”

“‘Ms. Cooper’,” Greg corrects, “Like everyone else, is struggling to find meaning and hope in a changed world. Part of it is believing everyone who has survived did so for a reason. She is casual about these ideas and won’t force her opinions on you. Don’t press her on it, and it won’t be a problem.”

Despite the light reprimand, Greg puts a gentle hand on Cole’s shoulder. 

Probably bad blood between Cole and another person he’s tried to shoot on sight that this guy has to do bootleg anger management therapy for in their stupid fucking yurt.

Klaus gives you directions to the Coopers’ place as Ted asks Greg more about how they’re able to survive out here. Yawn. You’re no fucking boyscout. If Ted wants to learn how to fish in the artificial pond at the golf course, good for him. It has to be full of dead koi who don’t get fed anymore, and mosquitoes.

While they talk, Cole sidles up to you. As much as a giant scowling mad man can sidle. It’s not subtle.

“Do not trust those weirdos,” he whispers. Coming from the guy who tried to murder you, this is rich. Or worrying. Self awareness cannot be his strong suit so you settle for amusing.

“Are they going to try to shoot me too?” You whisper back.

“I swear they’re part of some kind of rapture cult,” he insists.

You stare at him, careful not to laugh, “I don’t think you know how that works, man.”

“What?”

“The Rapture shit. Like. It’s sort of the opposite of what you said she believes.”

He scowls, “I’m trying to warn you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.” You could care less about if these people are Jonestown revivalists as long as they have weed. 

Ted wraps up his conversation and heads over to you, checking his bag for anything he may have put down, “We should head out soon. Head over to the Cooper house to make sure they’re fine with it if we need to crash. You can haggle with them over weed. Which I’ll point out no one else mentioned them having, before you get your hopes up that they’ve bothered to keep growing it the past two years.”

“Who the fuck would stop smoking weed if they had access to it during this?” You ask, incredulous. Ted thinks he’s so smart but says dumb shit all the time.

He thinks similarly of you, because his tone goes deadpan and expression has the studied blankness that only a true bitch can convey, “I dunno Brody, people with the desire to live? Being stoned does not help decision making skills. Or reaction time. Don’t tell me about your Halo kill scores or whatever, I don’t want to hear about being a stoned shooting savant on a video game where you kill twelve year olds online. You already tried to convince me, before.”

“You wanted to do this too!” You pause, concerned as something else crosses your mind, “Are you harboring a hidden death wish? I did not sign up for secret suicide risk.”

He levels you with that bitchy fucking look again and says, “I live with you so I guess I must be. Let’s go already.”


	10. BEFORE 5

Senioritis Support Group  
  
I cant wait to be fucking dooooooooone  
Gert  
We still have like two weeks  
Like ur not fucking tired of this  
Fallon  
I still can’t believe I’m starting at Emory U in a few months  
Gert  
yeah such a shock ur just like, valedictorian and richer than that guy who gave golden handjobs  
wtf  
Midol?  
Gert  
that’s definitely not what you think it is  
i cant stand u but even more than that FALLON why tf are u excited abt MORE. SCHOOL.  
It’s different! It’s college. Going to a university and figuring out what you want to do! Starting real steps to the rest of your life! Doing things that matter!   
Gert  
arent u going to become a doctor  
wow real original fallon  
Copying ur brother  
Get a REAL life plan  
It’s not copying!! There’s a lot of different kinds of doctors. I don’t want to be a surgeon. If I go into that I’d be more interested in research fields… biomedical engineering. And I’m still thinking about engineering.   
copycat  
feet’s not becoming a cop bc her brother’s one  
Oh my fucking god autocorrect  
*****Gert  
Gert  
ffs i dont believe it’s autocorrect at this point  
YOU DONT HAVE 2 TYPE UR OWN NAME HOW TF DO U KNOW!!!  
Gert  
Keep ur fetish to yourself  
dont be gross, i want nothign to do with u or ur feet  
More typos aren’t going to cover your tracks  
:)  
fuck u guys  
Cant fucking believe i was going to suggest we should do something to celebrate graduation but id rather fail now  
Gert  
you WOULD be failing without us u fucking moron  
i’m going fail every test on purpose fuck u  
do you think that’s really going to affect Gert more than you? :/  
Gert  
UH IT FUCKIN WILL I DIDNT WASTE MY DAMN TIME MAKING SURE UR ASS DID UR HW AND STUDIED TO SPITE FAIL I STG I WILL KILL U IN UR SLEEP BRODY  
why u texting me during class then  
I could fail if i dont hear this :’(  
Fallon  
a toddler could do what we’re reviewing  
Gert  
not the time, baby genius  



	11. A Game of Chess (2.1)

“Something is very wrong,” Ted mumbles, hunkered down in the passenger side and peeking out the window at the house down the street. It’s not a great part of town anymore, but it used to be. Lawns, picket fences, big airy windows. It reminds you of John’s Creek, but with a denser population, closer to the city. It got fucked. 

You know exactly which house is your destination. The one that looks pristine in the wreckage of overgrown plots around it. Like every joke about mowing the lawn and adhering to Housing Association Standards the two of you have made in the past few months were taken seriously here. The edges of the lawn have even been trimmed up, like the lawns surrounding the place aren't a wilderness. There’s fucking snapdragons and flowers with less cool names blooming in the weed-free garden in the front. 

And by weed free you mean both kinds are absent. Fucking maniacs could be growing this shit outside without cops but no. Snapdragons. This is gonna be a bust.

“Are we just real fucking bad at this or something? First a bunch of fags living in a tent in the woods like it’s goddamn paradise, and now this. What are we doing wrong.” You ask, annoyance winning out over worrying how someone could maintain this. 

Ted’s head falls back against the headrest and he lets out an aggravated noise over you talking because he’s rude as hell, before he shuts up and admits, “Maybe we do suck. That doesn’t make this less weird. How do you mow the lawn? I can see infected down the street. There’s no eight foot privacy fence keeping them out. A push mower would still be loud enough to get their attention.”

You tap your wrist. Waiting in the car and puzzling over this shit has wasted enough time. “We can ask for tips inside.” 

It’s light out, and easy to keep an eye out, but it’s still a fucking city and if there are zombies in sight you don’t know how many aren’t. The two of you leave the car as quietly as you can -something you’re well practiced at now, and slip through the gate. There’s a hum in the background that eases some of the tension. Ambient noise is good, makes you quieter in the buzz of… you squint at something on the side of the house, point it out to Ted.

As you make your way toward the front door, the noise becomes louder, but apparently sustained noise doesn’t bother the living dead.

Ted chances a whisper that’s mostly drowned out anyway, “I think that’s a generator.”

If these people have electricity you’re going to scream. How do you two suck so bad at this and everyone else get shit like generators and stupid fucking YURTS.

The front door is a cheerful butter yellow, and all the white trim is spotless. The porch has ugly cat knick-knacks, like it’s someone’s grandma dealing because she got bored of retirement. You try to peek past the semi-opaque curtains of white lace in the front window, but can’t see anything. When you try to knock on the front door, Ted grabs your wrist and stops you. He presses the electric doorbell. From outside you can hear the ring echo in the front hall.

Ted stares you down, not smug but bewildered that it worked. You spy a shadow move to the door through the gauzy curtains, hear the soft padding of feet before the door opens.

A middle aged woman stands at the door, expectant, like she thought it would be a postal worker asking her to sign for a package. Ms. Cooper, or who you assume to be her, is tall and blonde, and in the ballpark of her mid-forties. Her skin is the glowing tan of a white woman with a lot of money for spray tans or maybe someone who spends a lot of time outside gardening in the apocalypse. She would’ve been a hot cougar before the zombie apocalypse. Right now, she is unreal. You’d be more prepared to open the door and see Danny Devito. 

She smiles and you instantly decide you will self sabotage in any way possible so you can stay the night. You know how to handle milfs. Usually. You’re out of practice. 

“Can I help you boys?” She asks, beaming, and the pure wattage of her smile could make the generator redundant.

You stand there stupidly, pinned in place by the sheer unlikelihood of this situation. Ted clears his throat and asks if you can come in, mentioning how Greg pointed you in her direction. She ushers you inside, and the door clicks shut behind her. She doesn’t bother to lock it, but she does expect you to take your shoes off.

“Cooooolin,” She calls up the stairs, and you flinch at how loud she is. She gives zero fucks. “We have visitors, sweetie. Come downstairs.”

The house is spotless and for the second time that day you’re ushered into a sitting and told to wait for snacks. Mrs. Cooper returns with a tray with a pitcher of tea and food.

You openly gape at the ice cubes. This alone makes the yurt look like the ugly shack in the woods it is. When she puts a plate in front of Ted with a slice of peach pie you think he might burst into tears. Luckily everyone is distracted from his watering eyes as Colin appears in the doorway.

If you thought Cole was big, your first thought about Colin is wondering how the fuck he manages to eat enough to survive. He has to be around your age, and easily has almost a foot on you. The term brick shit house exists solely for this man’s description. Ted looks like a Holocaust survivor next to him. It’s obscene.

He gives you a lopsided grin and settles into an armchair, everyone ringed around a coffee table in a sitting room that’s way too frilly and pastel for your taste. Ted jerks suddenly, and laughs in shock when he finds a cat rubbing against his legs.

“You can call me Coco. This is my son Colin. Maybe you used to go to school together? He was a junior before the Change.”

You shake your head, “Not me. I was in a different district.” As an afterthought you introduce yourself, then Ted. “Besides, I had just graduated. And Ted must’ve been in like, middle school.”

Ted is only half listening, too busy sneaking another slice of pie because he devoured the first slice, but corrects you,“No, I graduated and was going to start at Georgia Tech in the STEM program. But that didn’t happen.”

Excuse me? You whip your head around to see if Ted’s expression is at odds with his words, but he’s serious “What?”

“‘What’ what?” Ted asks obliviously, concentrating on another forkful of pie filling. 

“I thought you were like sixteen. Right now.”

“Well I’m not.”

Ms. Cooper interrupts decisively, “Haven’t been eating enough. Here, have more.” She gives Ted another slice, ignorant to or uncaring about his secret second one. Given the massive size of this one (roughly the size of your watch) you lean towards uncaring. 

“So, how are the boys doing?” Ms. Cooper asks pleasantly.

“They seemed to be doing well,” Ted says around a large bite, hand covering his mouth like he has fucking manners now that he’s in a real human’s house again, being given pie by the pound, “But some of the locals have been giving them a hard time. You might want to watch out for the Yellowjackets.”

“They don’t bother us anymore.” Ms. Cooper says, unruffled, and does not expand on it. She smiles an inch wider and asks, “More tea?”

“Yes,” You say, “Please.”

Leaning forward you continue in Ted’s vein. “We’re on a bit of an errand for them, acting as an inbetween for them and the folks at the Southern Oaks Estates, I think. Greg told us we should come see you and ask if we can stay the night if we get backed up. We’d be happy to offer you something in exchange but,” You lay it on thick and look around the room that feels like a time capsule dedicated to normality, “It looks like you aren’t wanting for anything.”

Colin pipes up amiably, “Company is always a gift.” It sounds like a platitude he’s grown up parroting.

“That’s right,” his mother smiles.

“Klaus also mentioned something about how his cousin got his weed from you,” You press, “And I saw you have a garden out front so thought, maybe… I mean we wouldn’t expect it for free.”

Ms. Cooper lets out a short laugh, and something about it makes Ted snap from the blinders of pastry-dimension because he peers at her with a curiosity that you don’t get. 

“I’m sure we can arrange something.” She doesn’t clarify further and instead asks about where you live, and how you’ve been managing. You hesitate to share, but… it wasn’t the Coopers Greg warned you off of. Ted manages to be better at giving evasive half answers, so you let him handle the specifics as it’s your turn to eat a gross amount of pie.

Other people feeding you real food twice in one day is something you’re gonna take full advantage of. Thank god for southern hospitality.

Despite your reservations, she doesn’t seem nosy, but curious to make small talk and include you in it. Like everyone else you run into, you have to wonder if she’s a bit lonely.

“Do you get visitors much? Your house sticks out like a sore thumb. Like, in a good way. It’s very nice,” You lie, as a horrible porcelain plate with a wall eyed cat painted on it, directly behind Ms. Cooper’s head, attempts to make eye contact with you. “Our lawn is kind of a mess.” 

“I thought you had several houses?” Colin asks, a sliver of what you suspect is sarcasm entering his voice. 

“Yeah I’ve paid off the mortgages and everything. Gonna be great rental properties to finance my retirement,” Ted bites back, voice mild. Looks like shoveling dessert into his face is the key to contentment.

“I meant -well, the first house I got set up in the area was my friend’s. I figured maybe she would come back to it, but... Yeah. The other places don’t matter I guess. That one kind of does.” The conversation takes a dive into awkward silence and you drop your gaze to focus on literally anything else. RIP.

Ms. Cooper squeezes your arm and assures you, “I’m sure you’ll find her eventually.”

You let out a half hearted laugh and joke, “Nah, she’s super dead. She was the size of a ten year old and never lifted a finger she didn’t have to. Not the survivalist type.” You shrug and force out, “It’s not a big deal anymore.”

Colin cocks his head to the side and stares at you, looking not unlike the fucked up cat plate. 

“Well, that’s too bad,” Ms. Cooper says, “But sometimes change is difficult even though it’s necessary.”

Not the sentimental type, you see. Ted reflexively makes a noise in surprise, and pretends he choked on a crumb. Cole said some shit about these people being wackjobs. You wonder which of his loved ones’ deaths Ms. Cooper claimed to be  _ necessary _ . For what, exactly? Maybe she was really into PETA and an ecoterrorist. The cat thing is a little extreme, the more you look around. 

Swerving away from that topic proves safer, and eventually Ms. Cooper tells her son to help her clean up. Ted shoots to his feet and offers to help, so he can lick the pie plate clean while no one is watching like a fucking gremlin, but is assured that’s not necessary. She gathers up glasses and leaves the room. 

Colin, who’s mostly been quiet and weird, doesn’t seem inclined to talk without his mother around. 

“Soooo… about the weed thing,” You begin, “You guys have a generator, right? We could hook you up with gas.”

He stacks plates and gives you a confused look.

“We have gas. Weed costs money.”

You and Ted exchange glances. Ooookay.

“You want… actual money?” Ted clarifies, “Like, paper dollar bills?”

Colin continues to look at you like he is the normal one, and the two of you are idiots.

“Yes. That is how you pay for things.”

“When was the last time you paid for jack shit?” You ask flatly.

“We buy things from the Estates all the time,” Colin informs you, voice slow like he thinks you’re retarded. Great. Also weird. This whole time you guys could’ve been emptying out cash registers in preparation for this day. God damn it.

Ted holds his hands up, “I don’t have anything. I used my card for everything.”

Wallet. Where the fuck is your wallet? It’s useless now but you still carry it out of habit. You pat down all your pockets until you find it and pull out a wad of receipts, a photobooth printout from Disney of you and the girls, and, at last, a wrinkled ten dollar bill.

Triumphant, you hold the bill out to Colin, “Here you go.”

He looks at it, fluttering limply at him in your fist, and shakes his head.

“That won’t get you a joint these days. Supply and demand. We have other buyers, sorry.”

You cannot FUCKING believe this.

“What else do you want besides money, dude. I can work with you,” You realize you sound like a junkie but it’s weed. It’s fucking weed and you’re not going to get cucked like this right on the edge of victory. Weed Quest is at the finish line. You’re so close. 

Colin is unimpressed and moves to leave the room, but you grab his wrist to stop him. His stupid pink sweater pulls up enough you can see a gnarly scar on his forearm, but he pulls away from you and readjusts his clothes like you got him dirty or something.

Not everyone has a fucking working normal house with a bath, bitch.

“I bet your mom would be more than willing to come to an arrangement. In fact, I bet given her desperation to have  _ company _ , your cougar mom is dying to get-” Ted slaps at your arm, hard, and hisses at you to shut up.

Colin’s smile freezes over. “My mom  _ what _ ?”

He’s like 7 feet tall and has been eating pie for two years in luxury, as you survive on whatever you can get your hands on. You know this is stupid but your mouth physically cannot stop.

“I’m gonna fuck your mom.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Uh… gross?”

“What?”

“Why would you want to watch me fuck your mom, dude?”

Colin frowns, massive ham hands tightening on the hilariously tiny plates clutched in his sausage fingers.

“Give me that picture and I’ll give you weed.”

“Wait,” You pause, “What?”

He points to the photo booth print out you half shoved back into your wallet. “That.”

“Fuck no. Why do you want my picture you fucking homo?’

Ted practically collapses on the couch groaning, and puts his face in his hands.

Colin is insistent. “I want to see it. I know those girls.”

There is absolutely no way Colin has ever met Gert and Fallon. This freak bitch would’ve been brought up. Fallon only had two friends: you guys. Gert…no, she would’ve at least mentioned this bitch. You know where she got weed so it can’t be that. 

Ms. Cooper sticks her head through the doorway and admonishes him, “What is taking so long sweetpea? You can talk with your new friends after you bring me those dishes.”

Without another word, Colin follows after his mommy with the tray of dirty plates and silverware.

“Wow,” You shake your head, “What a sweet boy.”

Ted’s eyebrows are about at his hairline as he lets out an indelicate snort, “Holy shit,  _ what is wrong with you _ ?”

“I like his mom better.” You pause, silence heavy with intent, “Do you think-”

“It’s a terrible idea and she looks like a stepford wife,” Ted says, voice flat.

“You’ve seen that movie?” You perk up, surprised.

Ted levels such a look of disdain before he concedes he has not, “But I know what the reference means. Everyone does.” This bitch is just jealous she has fucking shampoo and electricity. Hateful.

“Also,” he starts up again, practical without dessert in his clutches anymore, “We should get going soon. Stop trying to barter for your weed by making the guy who has it angry. We have to sleep here Brody. I am not aiming to be murdered, despite the suicide risk joke, okay?”

You kick back on the couch, “If I sleep in her room with her, I think I’m safe.”

“Maybe,” Ted snaps, “You are delusional and this woman is not going to fuck you.”

“I have a way with milfs, Ted,” You promise him, “And it’s never caused me trouble before. I guarantee it can only help.”

“Help you get blunt force trauma, maybe.” He levels an aggrieved sigh and asks, “Can we head over to the Estates and get this chore done with, now we know you can’t afford drugs?”

“I’m gonna get that weed Ted.”

“Oh no,” he insists, “You are not. What are you gonna do, rob them? No. Colin will kill us with his bare hands.”

You face Ted and tell him, very seriously, “You’re gonna have to suck this guy’s dick. Time to take one for the team.”

He bursts out in derisive laughter, “Oh my god, no? No. You thought I was like fifteen and now you want me to- Wow. Why are you like this? You suck his dick.”

You make a face, “No, you’re the gay one. It’s gotta be you.”

“Sorry about that,” Ms. Cooper says and you jump. Didn’t even hear her come back in the room. “How about Colin shows you up to the guest room?”

Ted tries to refuse politely, “We wouldn’t want to impose on your time, I’m sure you’d like to get back to whatever you were doing before we interrupted.”

“Nonsense,” She insists, “Colin will show you around upstairs.”

You meet him on the landing and he gives you the world’s shittiest tour of the house. He bypasses a few doors, and only points out two: the bathroom and a guest room. 

The guest room is spacious, but stark. Colin flips the light on and several cats dart out of sight, like giant furry cockroaches frightened to the dark corners of the room in the bright light. Much like the rest of the house, there’s a serious motif in the decor here too. Cats are fine, but this is getting excessive.

Wait.

You look at your watch. It’s not late enough to be that dark. The curtains are the same gauzy kind from the window in the front of the house. You push past Colin to look outside.

The sky is a writhing sheet of clouds overhead, punctuated only by the odd flash of lightning. It’s the wrong kind of storm, not just normal rain. The weird shit like a tornado is about to ruin everyone’s life, sky lit up green and purple like a bruise, thunder and pounding rain. Everything smells like a wet mess of ozone and that weird after-rain smell that makes you think of worms. And then, when it passes through -it’s always quick, maybe a few hours -all the fucking zombies are gonna come through.

Fuck. 

Ted swears, “We can’t go out in that.”


	12. A Game of Chess (2.2)

Colin is unbothered by the storm outside beginning to beat at the windows, the onslaught of rain hammering in your ears. “By morning, all of the Changed will have cleared out. It’s not far to the Estates and you were planning to spend the night here as it was, so this doesn’t change much. Plus, we have more time for the preparations to be made now.” There’s nothing to disagree with, but you feel the compulsion to. He’s right -not like you had other plans and it means shuttling back and forth tomorrow won’t be in a rush, as opposed to if you got held up at the Estates.

He continues, nonchalant, “Anyway, the bathroom is over here.”

Ted raises an eyebrow and asks, “‘Preparations?’ Do we need a secret password to get in?”

“Wait a sec. Hold up. Is there another guest room?” You ask, searching around the room for a second hidden mattress to appear. Nah, bro. Not about this shit.

Colin smiles cheerfully, “Nope.” With that he turns on his heel and you follow after him. Whatever. There’s a couch. Also sleeping face first in his mom’s fuckin’ tits. 

The bathroom is all sterile tile and smells of citrus scented cleaning chemicals. It’s almost nostalgic, seeing something so simple as a working bathroom, clean and . 

“How do you have running water?” Ted asks, curiously.

“There’s a well in the backyard,” Colin replies, “Though the tank doesn’t hold a lot, so please try not to use up all the hot water. I imagine you might want to take showers while you’re here. Let me get towels from the linen closet for you.” He takes another look at you and adds, “We have extra bathrobes if you’d like to wash your clothes.” It doesn’t seem like a suggestion, but you neither blame him, nor would refuse the offer.

Ted looks like this is the best day of his life, you don’t doubt he is ready to move in with the Coopers. Understandable. Dealing with Colin would almost be worth it, misgivings aside. 

As he hefts a pile of towels, washcloths, and anything else you might need, you bring up the mark on his arm you noticed earlier. It’s no trick of the light, or weird pattern in his freckles. The flesh looks like it didn’t heal up right, puckered and shiny. It’s no neat, straight slice from a mishandled knife. It’s ugly and uneven. He’s lucky he didn’t die of infection, because you’d bet he got it after things went to shit.

“What happened to your wrist?” Pointing at the scar tissue peeking out, you add, “That looks jacked _right_ the fuck up.”

He smiles, blank and shallow, and says, “I assume you don’t normally have access to a mirror, or you would never comment on anyone’s appearance.” Fucked up how a stupid drawl makes these jackasses get away with sounding gracious while roasting you. He’s still pissed about the momfuck comments, you’d wager.

Still, you side eye the mirror to check you have not become unbearably ugly without realizing it. Grimy, sure, and a little on the thin side but no, you’re fine -and those are easily remedied issues, forced on you by circumstance. 

“Do you have scissors?” Ted asks suddenly, “I don’t think washing my hair is going to solve the problem.”

Colin obliges and opens a drawer under the sink, pulling out a pair of small, sharp, shears.

“Cool. Thanks.”

As soon as Colin sees himself out, you round on Ted. “Did you see that fucking scar?”

“No, and if I had I wouldn’t be bothering him about it.” Like you, he’s busy frowning at the mirror. “Brody, drop whatever it is you have going on against this guy you just met, please.” Ted doesn’t bother to face you, focused on his reflection and trying to figure out where to start with lopping his hair off. The whole thing is a matted nasty mess.

You open the drawer Colin pulled the scissors from and snatch out the buzzer, offering it to Ted, only to yank it away as a hostage when he tries to take it from your hands. “Listen to me. He got bit. It was a bite mark.”

That stops Ted, who looks... not alarmed, but excited, almost. _Intrigued_. “So much for global warming zombies. I told you it’s viral, so please start telling me how right I am, at all times. What’s with that look? Colin survived it. Neat to know, but also useless. And harmless. If he’s somehow still carrying a viral load, he isn’t going to bite us. Since we aren’t scientists or have access to a lab the positives are also a net zero. Now help me with my hair, or get out so I can take a bath.” He holds out his hand for the clippers, expectant, but you wave off his dismissal, because you need to see this transformation for yourself.

Neither of you have experience cutting hair, and it’s trickier than you thought. The state of it doesn’t help. You’ve hacked at your own to keep it short, but Ted’s is a fucking mess. The scissors can’t even get through it without sawing at it, and you can’t buzz it without chopping most of it off first. After a lengthy struggle, you settle for washing it first. Ted bends over the side of the tub as you kneel down next to him, trying to get shampoo through the tangles of his hair under the running faucet. His hands grip the rim of the tub and he makes a small noise as your fingers snag a knot in his hair and pull, for like the millionth time.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I think that’s the best it’s gonna get.”

The scissors make short work of what’s recognizable as hair now, and soon Ted is working the kinks out of his neck, as most of his hair lays in nasty wet mats covering the bottom of the tub. For your first time playing barber, it’s not bad, incomplete as it may be. 

You fondly describe your work, “Looks like shit.”

Ted runs a hand through the choppy wet mess that remains, as if he can groom it into obedience, but you stop him before he can get a decent look at himself in the mirror, “It’s not done. Get in the tub and I’ll shave the rest down.”

The results are... well, it looks fine when it’s all gone. You can see Ted’s face for once, without him hiding behind his hair like a 13 year old emo girl. Something twinges in you, maybe embarrassment at the fact you never bothered to look too hard despite months of living with him. Maybe the fact he’s still pretty much a stranger to you, albeit a stranger you trust to keep you alive.

He scrapes at the short hairs clinging to the nape of his skinny neck and cranes around in front of the mirror, like he doesn’t recognize himself and is looking for the right angle where it will click, _yes, this is still me under all that after all_.

The moment is so quiet and vulnerable, you feel voyeuristic whether you avert your eyes or not. 

Caught up staring at the vapid flower print in the wall tiles for something else to look at, you say nothing, and Ted decides to be the one to get personal. “Never mentioned the place we’ve been staying is your friend’s house.”

You don’t like this.

“Well, it hasn’t been hers for awhile. ”

“Okay. Might want to ask Colin how he knows your friends though. That was kind of weird.”

“Let’s not,” You interrupt.

He almost stops, he catches himself and hesitates, but pushes a line he’s never acknowledged existed before.

“Ignoring this isn’t going to help. You’ll regret it-”

“There’s hair all over you,” Picking a stray one off his shoulder, you flick it into his eyes, “Might want to take that bath now.” 

You spin on your heel and make a beeline for the door, closing it with a snap behind you. Even if you do talk to Colin, it sure as hell wouldn’t be at Ted’s behest or to hold out for the idea that your friends passed by last week. This bitch said he knew them, but the way he worded it was like it was current. You _know_ he didn’t know them beforehand, and there’s no way they're still alive, even if Colin did meet them during, or sometime after, the outbreak shitshow. 

Why set yourself up for that kind of let down? No thanks.

When you find him -which isn’t hard since he’s the one who lives here, and he’s one of four people inside it -it’s to ask what the fuck he wanted the photo for. 

Colin’s by the front bay window, peeking through the curtains outside. It’s darky and stormy so he can’t see jack shit. You rap on the wall to get his attention, but he glances your way and looks right back outside. Tool.

“Yo, about that picture you said you wanted…” You pat your pockets. This gets Colin’s attention. He turns to face you instead of staring into the dark like a freak.

“If you know them what are their names?”

“Gert,” he supplies, the answer immediate, but fumbles for Fallon’s, “I don’t remember the other girl’s.”

Huh. 

Beats Colin seeing photos of girls and wanting jack off material, you suppose. 

“How do you know them?”

“They came through a while back.”

There’s a tense silence as you struggle to ask, “How long ago?” 

Colin blinks, unsure, “I don’t know how long it’s been since the Change. It was early.”

Ah. There it is. 

“Why do you want the picture?” You demand, pushing the disappointment aside.

He gives you a lopsided smile and way too much honesty, “She’s very pretty and I like her. If you see her again, can you tell her sorry for me?” 

“Wow, you managed to piss her off that fast?” You chide him. “How am I not surprised? That’s what you get for being a fucking-“ 

“Didn’t I tell you to leave him alone?” Ted asks, voice carrying down the stairs he’s perched on, dry with unamusement. He’s still peppered with water droplets and wearing a bathrobe, after what has to be the shortest shower. Fucker did not trust you at all.

“You also said to talk to him, so make up your mind.” You aren’t amused either. Getting answers out of Colin without Ted bitching in the background and interrupting is hard enough. “Whatever, I’m done here.”

You head upstairs to the bathroom, still hazy with steam from Ted’s shower, and toss the bundle of your and Ted’s dirty clothes into the laundry before you step into the shower. 

After scrubbing off so many layers of grime they bordered on sediment, you put on a stupid fluffy bathrobe that feels like the most luxurious thing you’ve touched in your entire life while you wait for your clothes to dry. This place fucking sucks. Having this for a moment, this teasing glimpse of normality, and knowing how brief it is curdles any lingering good feelings. A part of you wishes you could leave this second -leave all this and go back to your little suburb and pretend nothing else exists outside it. Fuck these dumb white people and their peach fucking pie.

Fuck Colin for getting to see your friends and how unfair it is he recognized them and had to open his fat mouth. It would’ve been better if he never said anything, you never had to know, and never thought about this a second longer than you had to.

You sit on the cold tile floor and rest your head against the lip of the tub until the steady thumping of the drying machine turns into a loud buzzer announcing your clean clothes. They smell like detergent, which you decide you now hate.

After getting dressed you puzzle briefly over Ted’s skinny pant-legs. The suspicion dawns that your wrists couldn’t fit through the ankle. Christ. 

Something makes you feel self conscious about touching his clothes so you throw them back in the dryer and find him set up in the guest room. It’s sparse -not bare, but enough to show how ornamental it was long before everyone died or started eating each other. Maybe it sees more use now.

Ted seems distracted, searching the room like he lost a contact. On his knees, he’s half under the bed when he notices you’re watching him. And by notices, it’s because you kick him over and announce, “Get dressed, bitch.”

“Would you fucking stop?” He hisses, pissed though you didn’t kick him for _real_. It was a nudge with your foot. Maybe if he weighed more than ten pounds the wind wouldn’t knock him over. Other than that, he ignores you and gets up to look through the closets like there’s a secret passage he heard about but can’t find. Some Narnia ass shit.

“You good?” He’s busy so you let him do his thing, content to roll around the bed in dryer-warm clothes for the first time in years.

“I feel like there’s something we’re missing. Just… looking around,” He says.

“Well put your fucking clothes on so I don’t have to see your pancake ass 

He gives you a deadpan stare and says shortly, “Then don’t stare at it in the first place.” 

“I’m not.”

“Whatever Brody. I tried to sneak around while you were in the shower,” Ted lowers his voice to a near-whisper, punctuated by a yawn, “The basement is dead bolted shut,” 

You pause, shoot a look at the door, and admit, matching his volume with a low voice, “But… The front door was still unlocked when I was talking to Colin. He told me not to bother with it. I thought it was stupid-ballsy, but why the fuck is the basement locked if they’re not worried about?”

Ted sits on the other side of the bed and looks so tired, it’s like he’s struggling to stay vertical. He leaves too much silence for you to bounce off of and the worst thing you can think of springs to mind.

“These people have got to be fucking cannibals.”

“Noooo, no they’re not,” he sprawls out, wrapping around a pillow, too lazy to give a shit about the fact y’all are getting eaten before leaving. His utter lack of concern is real annoying, given he was the one being suspicious and paranoid. It’d serve his ass right to get cannibalized.

There’s a loud knock on the door before Colin comes in with a tray of sandwiches and a pitcher of sweet tea, insisting that his mother sent him up with a light supper for them and they have to eat it or she’ll feel like a bad host. It doesn’t matter if they ate way too much pie not long ago. Ted laughs, the kind of semi-hysterical bark that Colin does not understand, because why the fuck would you ever refuse actual food, no matter how full you were? 

As if being full is much of a thing when it’s subsistence eating shitty food out of cans most of the time. Once in a while you try to bust out some half assed attempt at real food which is mostly cooking expired pasta in the fire pit in Fallon’s backyard, to mixed results. 

Resentful as you may be, you pick apart the sandwiches, hunched over the tray like vultures sitting cross legged on the floor, to make sure there’s no human meat before devouring them top speed, as you and Ted argue about if you’d be able to know. There’s no meat so it’s pointless.

But also, he’s wrong and you’d know.

He lectures you about meat and you tune him out, only responding to accuse him of being a cannibal himself if he knows so much about what people taste like. He shuts up and eats in irritated silence. You drink his sweet tea and he practically shrieks trying to claw the glass out of your hands as you chug it, only succeeding when it’s half empty. Loser.

  
  


It must be hours later, when you wake up in the dark, on the floor. 

You blink the sleep out of your eyes -and boy is it a fucking struggle -while the flat black before you resolves into varying shades of it, amorphous shapes and shadows you struggle to understand until-

Hunched over you is a person. A big ass person. Colin. 

“Shh!”

The voice that hushes you before you flip out isn’t his. It’s Ted’s. Great. Okay. What the fuck is happening?

“I got your clothes out of the dryer,” Colin says like this is a normal way to let someone know they have to do a load of laundry and you’re hogging the machines.

“Thanks,” You say because your head is swimming and you can’t think of something bitchier when your brain thinks it’s still mid-REM cycle. You do your best to sound like a massive cunt using inflection alone because _you were fucking sleeping, asshole._ Apparently. 

“Why am I on the floor? Turn the lights on, I can’t see for shit.”

“No.”

Colin sounds… tense. And Ted is dead silent.

“What’s going on?” You ask, hit with a wave of uncertainty.

“I’m supposed to be getting ready for your Preparations, but…” Colin’s voice is doubtful, tinged with an edge of guilt, “Well, it went very badly with Gert and her friends. Ted is rather nice, and like I said, I’d appreciate it if you told her sorry for me, so I figured I’d let you go before Mommy noticed.”

You shove at what you think is Ted’s shoulder after a moment of digesting his babble, “I fucking told you they were cannibals bro, you hear this, what the fuck-”

“What? No, that’s stupid,” Colin says. He urges you again, this time shoving clothes in your hands as you whisper that they’re not yours, does it look like you could fit in those jeans? Ted’s twig arms extend to snatch them from your hands, and gets dressed in the corner even though you can’t even see him.

The three of you sneak down the stairs as quietly as you can. The basement door is not only unlocked, but wide open, and the light flickers oddly, like it’s lit by candles instead of electricity. Gert’s black ass is lucky she survived this shit. Colin seems to think so.

“What did you mean by things went badly with my friends?” You whisper as Ted’s hand flies to try to cover your mouth. You see the shape of Colin’s fat head shake in the dark.

You all stop as one, as a voice carries up from the basement.

“Sweetheart?” Ms. Cooper’s voice calls up.

Colin clears his throat, “Yes Mommy?”

Good lord. The front door is so goddamn close -and you note that now it’s dead bolted shut.

“Can you bring our guests down now? They’ll start to wake up soon.”

“Did you fucking drug us?” You hiss between Ted’s fingers as he more desperately tries to shut you up.

Colin is nonplussed. “Preparing for the Change is easier that way.”

Ted stops moving, tensing up so fast you worry Colin’s mom is coming up from downstairs. The doorway remains empty but instead of trying to cover your mouth, Ted’s energy is focused into trying to drag you to the door, stealth be damned.

Wait.

What you can make out of Colin’s face looks nervous as the two of you stand frozen on the stairs because your sleep-addled - no, drug-addled -brain is not keeping up with whatever everyone else here understands.

“What would happen if I went downstairs?” You ask. Colin’s discomfort isn’t reassuring, but he deserves to squirm being put on the spot.

Ted is on the verge of losing it, whispering voice strained, “We are going, Brody. Now.”

“No,” You say flatly, “Not until he tells me.”

“Well,” Colin whispers, “We’d just be preparing you for how the world has Changed. It’s a good thing! It doesn’t always work… but you can live a normal life again, without having to worry. I was trying to help your friends! If you survive getting bitten they won’t bother you anymore and-”

“You fucking did _what_ to them?” You don’t even try to keep your voice down. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Colin says hurriedly and goes to show you his arm and his goddamn scar and you think you are going to kill him, but there’s footsteps on the stairs now and in your moment of struggling to process Ted manages to yank you hard enough to pull you off the stairs and drag you towards the door, inertia making you follow after him. 

He fumbles with the lock, hands shaking, but gets it open and the two of you bolt out into the rain in what you think is the direction of the car.


	13. BEFORE: 6

Fal  
  
Remind me when you’re getting back, please. Don’t reply if you’re driving, I can wait.  
  
Brody won’t let me drive :(  
  
Are you in that piece of shit deathtrap of his? How have you not broken down on the side of the road yet, christ  
  
Aww it’s not thaaaat bad.   
  
Next time use your car.  
  
Gert won’t let me drive either…  
  
So make them chauffeur you around in a better car?  
  
No. That’s MY baby.  
  
Whatever, enjoy when you all die in a ball of flame because that thing spontaneously combusts. When are you getting home? Yvette wants to have a surprise party.  
  
ASHLEY!!!  
  
You don’t like surprises. I’m being nice.  
  
Answer the question Fal.  
  
We’ve been taking our time, so it’s gonna be later than we expected. Maybe like… Thursday?  
  
Tell me a normal dessert you’d like.  
  
;________;  
  
I’ll get you something awful for after. Yvette’s insufferable enough about planning this thing, if she cries because you had to have some curried fruity pebble paninis, I’m not going.   
  
You have to come!! *I* will cry if you don’t!!!!  
  
If everyone is crying and I’m not there, I’m still winning.  
  
Avoid the south side on the way home btw, there was some homeless guy tweaked out on bath salts again lol  
  
NOT lol  
  
Extremely lol, the cops blew his brains out. I thought Marcus was gonna have a stroke over the PR nightmare it’s turned into. You’ve been in a car for a week and a half and you haven’t listened to the news at all?   
  
...No.  
  
Good for you, honestly. Once you start school your entire life is going to be over and you will have no more free time to do anything like hang out with your friends, or enjoy music. You’ll start listening to NPR as background noise that you won’t be able to absorb 99% of, while stuck in traffic for an hour even though you live ten minutes away from the hospital.  
  
Sounds like you’re enjoying your residency…….  
  
Maybe you should ride a bike  
  
Do I look like a vegan to you? Fuck off. I hate the environment.  
  
You literally go to mom and dad’s house just to take the dog on hikes with you.  
  
The dog is the only friend I have left thanks to med school.  
  
There’s still time for you to change to something nice, like biomedical engineering.  
  
Also you never decided on a cake so I’m picking something I like. Try not to get alcohol poisoning at Disney World.  
  
Friday 10:35 PM  
How far out are you?  
  
Don’t come back into the city. I’ll meet you at the old house.  
  
Call me.  
  
Fallon pick up the phone.  
  



	14. The Fire Sermon x.1

There’s a distinct embarrassment to getting stabbed in the back by people you didn’t trust in the first place. It was so incredibly stupid, but how were you supposed to guess what new level of losing their fucking minds people would hit during all this? You assumed they’d try to rob you, or slit your throats while you were sleeping -they were pushing way too hard for you to stay the night -but drugging people for ritual sacrifice was a new and exciting possibility that never crossed your mind before.

The real mistake was not leaving Gert behind when she got bit. Fallon would’ve forgiven you, eventually. A split second decision made in a panic in a bad situation? Understandable. Now…? Less so.

Fallon is where she always is, posted at Gert’s bedside and hovering like there’s anything she can do. From what you can tell, Gert’s still ashen, feverish, and going to die, so you don’t see the point of dragging this out even longer. It’s been days. You’re holed up in some random apartment you managed to break into. It’s in the same goddamn neighborhood as the Coopers, supplies are almost nonexistent, and Fallon keeps wasting water trying to get Gert to choke it down only for it all to get puked back up.

You’ve humored her enough.

“Hey,” you start as gentle as you can, but Fallon pulls her shoulder away from your hand because she knows what’s coming. Her ears start flushing pink in anger. You follow through anyway. “I know this is hard for you to hear right now, but we need to discuss our options.”

She winds around to glare at you, stray curls pulled out of her complicated braided updo making her look wild and unlike her usual composed self.

“Don’t talk to me like that, like you’re a real doctor and can diagnose her. You- You don’t know anything! They said she could get better,” She snaps at you, for maybe the first time in her life. “That was the whole point. Inoculation.”

Her eyes are rimmed with red and smudges of bruise colored circles are begining to form underneath, not because she’s been crying (or if so, you haven’t caught her at it) but because she won’t fucking sleep. Because, of course, she knows the second she’s not watching, you will shoot Gert in the head. You’re on the same page about that, at least.

“I  _ am _ a real doctor,” You say, bored of rehashing this for what feels like the fifteenth time in the handful of days squatting around this shithole, and irritable from how bad your hand hurts, “Unlike those psychotic hicks killing people in their basement, whose word you’re trusting because you want them to be right.”

Fallon’s fingers wind tight around Gert’s limp clammy hands so hard she’s got to be cutting off blood flow.

“The only option is waiting it out. No disease has a 100% transmission or kill rate, it makes sense-” She insists but you shake your head.

“Your degree in Pathology 101 from Youtube University has not taught you enough to begin successfully diagnosing people either, Fal. We have no idea if there are other vectors of transmission. This is suicidally dangerous.”

“Stop being so condescending!” She almost yells at you. 

“Stop being so loud.” It’s like with Gert out of the picture, Fallon’s attitude has swelled up to fill the space left behind.

It was a matter of time. Eventually something would happen to shatter her illusions. Weeks into this mess and she’s still convinced everyone is out there, unscathed, and the group of you would continue to be. Gert’s a dumb kid who didn’t deserve this either, but a part of you hopes it’ll help Fallon balance out her optimism with practicality. It was pure chance it’s not her or you in Gert’s place. Once the two of you move on, that’s it. Only the two of you. You can’t afford any more risks, but can’t afford not to take them. 

“Fallon. Go to sleep.”

She doesn’t bother to look at you, or answer aloud, only stubbornly shake her hair out of her braid further.

“I won’t kill her unless she wakes up wrong,” You promise with a sigh, and you mean it because Fallon needs to trust you, “I’ll find something to tie her to the bed with, and we can check on her together. I’ll stay with you. And we’ll hear if she goes apeshit, so it’s safer anyway.”

You’re half tempted to offer to leave the thing Gert will become behind -there’s so many of the goddamn things, one more won't change anything. Maybe Fallon will go more easily if she isn’t burdened by guilt, but she’s always been the responsible sort so it’d likely have the opposite effect.

Plus it’s stupid to assume it’d starve. Assume that, and it’ll turn out to be parasites that allow the host body to photosynthesize for survival, or something equally unpleasant and inconvenient. None of this has gone conveniently. There wasn’t enough time to get any real research done, and it’s not like you had access to it. The poor assholes trying to do research at the CDC were just as fucked as the hospital in the end.

But you got some basic ideas from Marcus as the police struggled to figure out how to handle things as it escalated, before it was completely out of control. It happened so fast, the distinction between them undefinable.

You minored in pathology, but that’s all. Fallon’s not wrong that you have no idea how this shit works, even as she convinces herself she does. Maybe it’s a virus, or parasites, or super rabies, or prions. At least it’s not airborne, but it may as well be. What does it matter? It’s been around two months and every day it’s gotten worse.

Fallon gives you a suspicious look, but even that is weighed down into something less sharp by heavy eyelids. She’s exhausted. 

“I’ll make the couch up for you,” You decide, and leave her alone with Gert for a little while. When you come back, she lets you tie Gert by the ankles to the crappy metal bed frame. Easy to undo if you had your faculties, impossible to keep quiet if you turned into a bloodthirsty feral monster.

You clumsily double up on the knots when Fallon leaves the room, only trailing back out because you hear her calling. She’s wrapped up in a blanket that must’ve been plush and soft several years ago, on an equally thread-worn couch. Nothing matches, and the bedframe had the look of crappy IKEA dorm furniture.

Fallon pats the inch of space next to her. “We can share. There’s room.”

You raise an eyebrow. The couch is more of a loveseat, but Fallon’s as tiny as ever, and her legs  _ almost _ have room to spare.

“Hold me,” she whines, petulant and pathetic and seventeen. You sit on the floor next to the couch and brush a curl out of her face.

“I’ll hold your hand. Go to sleep.”

You lean against the arm rest and squeeze her hand in your good hand until she falls asleep.

  
  


_ Everything is a blur, and you know it’s a dream, but you can’t manage to change how it goes here any more than you could in reality. You’re too paranoid to eat or drink anything the Coopers don’t try first, but can’t stop the girls once they have. It’s safe, it must be safe. (It’s not, of course. Some sleight of hand while pouring more tea, or ladling out seconds.)  _

_ The girls share the guest room and stay up bullying Colin until his face is permanently a ruddy tomato-red, but Fallon starts to fall asleep on her feet. It’s past her bedtime. That must be it. (Maybe she wasn’t this sleepy when it happened. You would’ve noticed her swaying, wouldn’t you?) _

_ You sleep on the couch, and the problem is you’ve always been a heavy sleeper. You sleep through Colin carrying one, two, girls down one, two flights of stairs and aren’t drugged. Just tired. You don’t stop being tired. You are, were, always tired. It’s not real so you see yourself sleep, see Colin carrying them downstairs. One by one. Light flickers and Gert screams and you wake up to find the Coopers were just as paranoid as you were. You didn’t eat or drink so your wrist is handcuffed to the radiator. It’s not your dominant hand. You take a breath. It’s a tight fit, but you know the trick to getting out of handcuffs without a key and break your right thumb.  _

_ It hurts but it’s going to hurt so much more later without the adrenaline, so you make the most of it while you’ve got it in your system.  _

_ There’s noise and blood and- _

  
  


You jerk awake at -at  _ something _ , but half asleep you can’t tell what it was. The door, it had to be the door -the door to the room is open. You blink stupidly at the couch, neck stiff from resting against the scratchy cushion at an awkward angle, but there’s no lump of a blanket. No Fallon wrapped in it. Panic pulses through you, heart hammering a clumsy staccato rhythm in your ears and you hurry to the open doorway.

Fallon’s back in the chair next to Gert, who’s still laid where she’s been for days and days. It’s fine. Fallon turns in surprise to see you.

“I heard a noise,” She explains, then adds guiltily, “You looked tired. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Before you can lecture her, Gert sits up, ramrod straight, and makes a move for the side of the bed. You grab Fallon’s shoulder and wrench her out of the chair and away from Gert behind her, where she crashes onto her knees before you drag her to her feet and start for the door. 

But Gert doesn’t lunge at you, just shivers a little, glassy eyed and unwell, and announces in voice scratchy from disuse and lack of water, “I’m gonna barf.”

Then she follows through.

Fallon looks between her hunched over the side of the bed vomiting bile and saliva onto the floor, and back at you, in obvious delight. 


	15. The Fire Sermon x.2

It’s impossible to leave. Gert might be alive but she’s not well. Fallon insists she has to rest and regain her strength, and she’s not wrong but… you have nothing. Trapped in this ramshackle apartment, you long ran out of supplies, and almost everything the three of you had on you was left with the Coopers. At least paranoia benefited you, and sleeping with the handgun tucked in your jeans means you have one weapon left.

Fallon is practical but unwilling to leave Gert, and unwilling to go far out of the fear you will trick her into doing just that.

It’d be the smart thing, but as annoying as Gert is, she’s still a stupid kid and you’d feel at least a little bad about it. Plus Fallon would resent you and spend all her time trying to go back and find her. Not worth the hassle.

In a rare attempt to be positive in the midst of a shit situation, you reason out that the Coopers implied the fucked up cannibal freaks didn’t bother them, so if Gert could similarly avoid them once she stopped dying from dehydration and starving for several days, that could only be a net gain. 

If only it weren’t always the resources game. You managed to break into the handful of other apartments in the building and find a wrench, which is about useless as a weapon but with only a handful of weapons left it’ll have to fucking suffice.

This area is poor, there _has_ to be a Walmart somewhere. But Gert not dying is the short term priority, so you punish her for the inconvenience by letting her know all the neighbors had left was dry pasta. Fallon offers to try to cook it, which is doubly horrifying as the only tool available is a charcoal grill you hefted in from two apartments down the hallway when you found it on the balcony. Her cooking with typical tools ends up terrible, and you’re not in the mood for how she could fuck up spaghetti with expired condiments from a fridge with no electricity.

“No,” you tell her firmly, “Gert could roll off the bed and get stuck choking on her own vomit. You should keep babysitting her.”

“Fuck you,” Gert replies because she’s a rude ass brat, “I can get up. I’ll help you Fallon.”

Fallon won’t take no for an answer from you, and she makes excuses about how you shouldn’t be moving your hand more than necessary, but everyone in the room knows she just wants to try to grill spaghetti.

On top of it, Gert’s not entirely honest. Sure, she can get up, but getting onto the shitty balcony requires Fallon to steady her the whole time until she can collapse in an ugly plastic lawn chair set up next to an equally crappy plastic table that no amount of shoving things under the legs has succeeded in stabilizing. The sole decoration is an ashtray, which fills you with an intense longing. Fallon distracts you from it via pure annoyance as she directs you to get Gert pillows and blankets, while she rifles through the kitchen for utensils and supplies.

You hover as the girls chat and Fallon makes… something that’s edible. Potentially. There’s no mishaps until Fallon spoons out some of her mystery sauce for Gert to try and you slap the utensil out of her hand before she can put it back in the pot. 

“Don’t,” you reprimand, “Don’t do that. She could be infectious.”

Gert’s fixated on the spoon, and stays quiet for once in her life.

Fallon looks so hurt by this (despite the fact you’re in the right) you add a mumbled sorry out of guilt, and insist it was faster than verbally trying to stop her.

Things hang awkwardly enough Gert tries to switch tacks and assure Fallon her disgusting paste was delicious as you excuse yourself back inside, and abandon the girls.

Hopefully Fallon will continue trying to poison you all in her usual way, and start using her brain where Gert is concerned for more than a millisecond, instead of letting willful defensiveness blind her. She’s whip smart, except where anyone she cares about is concerned. How fast she becomes ten types of stupid is remarkable. It’s not something you minded before -if anything, you benefited from it. But now making a bad call isn’t a minor mistake, it’s putting yourselves in life threatening positions on a daily basis.

It’s funny how in every other matter, you disagree with each other but when it comes to pragmatism… Fallon brings the naive positivity, but you and Gert seem to have an understanding of a much more grounded reality. She might get swept along with Fallon’s delusions where everything turns out fine, and you won’t say outright that Fallon is full of shit and everyone you’ve ever known is dead or worse, but you’ve found Gert easier to convince about prioritizing the present instead of an idealized future. Her run in with the Coopers must have underscored the reality of the situation.

“Are you mad at me?” Fallon asks, later, as a preamble to telling you dinner is ready. She’s half inside, half out, leaning on the flimsy screen door which strains under even her skinny frame.

Gert must still be outside in her cocoon on the balcony. Good.

No matter how you try to keep the annoyance from your voice, it creeps in, “No, I’m not angry. But I need you to show some more common sense right now.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale, “Please.”

“Why don’t you think I’m taking this seriously?” Her own voice is strained from trying to keep it under control, but you can’t tell whether it’s out of frustration or melancholy, or whatever other overly complicated teen girl emotions she’s experiencing at any given moment. 

“I think you’re trying to,” you begin diplomatically, “But you’re seventeen and don’t know how to prioritize.”

Her face pinches before she gives up her flimsy barrier of protection that is the screen door. She isn’t happy, but forgives you later when you lie and pretend her cooking wasn’t that bad.

It’s the beginning of a new routine you quickly tire of. There are only so many apartments to break into, and sitting around in the one you’re holed up in is nearly as bad as the idea of running into more of those things by accident, now Gert’s on the mend. The whole thing is very tragic because she had a lot to improve on that being semi-braindead would’ve fixed.

Fallon puts all her effort into a domesticity she’d never been interested in before, as she seems to believe she is Gert’s caretaker despite the fact the girl is fucking fine now. 

As you take a furtive bite of Fallon’s latest concoction thrown together from scavenged goods, you nudge her leg under the table with your foot so she’ll leave Gert to cut her own food.

“Stop fussing, she can do it herself. Are you her wife or her mother now?”

Fallon goes beet red but Gert kicks back in the chair that has become her nest on the balcony and points out, “What else is she gonna do without Brody to baby twenty four/seven? This is more for her than me at this point.”

You raise an eyebrow and glance at Fallon, but she is determined to cut her own food and avoid looking at the two of you.

“I bet he’s fine,” Gert follows up quickly, “He’s a lazy shithead and liked letting you do everything for him.”

“He’d better appreciate it next time we see him,” Fallon huffs, unthreatened by the lack of likelihood of dramatic reunions as usual. Whatever, better she’s not depressed about her idiot friends getting picked off one by one.

You keep your mouth shut and focus on the courtyard below, instead. The apartment is located on the second floor, so it’s a decent vantage point and escape route even if all it leads to is a parking lot and some shrubs. Sometimes there’s people below, but they’re always dead and can’t reach. Gert destroyed all the flower pots full of neglected succulents by dropping them on their heads days ago, but you killed that game when you caught the girls trying to haul the tv over the ledge. Noise brings more of them. Sure, it’s safe for what it is but… you don’t need to attract anything extra to a place you can’t remotely defend as is. You’ve tried to set up safeguards and obstructions where you can, as you’ve explored the place, but it’s probably useless. The complex isn’t huge - it’s a single building in a U-shape around the courtyard, and only three floors. But it’s big enough to be impossible without serious help, and why bother when it won’t be long-term.

Long term. Trying to drag Fallon out to the country was the initial idea but you’re not convinced that’s ideal either. Stranded without access to anything only makes sense if you were already prepared. At least the house nestled in the suburbs has lower population density, so there’s gotta be less danger with less people to turn into these _things_.

With her usual power of observation and level of helpfulness (zero), Gert interrupts your musing and asks loudly, “Are you anorexic or something?” She points at your plate of what you think are ramen noodles doctored into something Fallon claimed was “dessert”, which have remained largely untouched.

Gert opening her fat mouth shows a marked improvement in her mood and energy to engage, but you’ve found that directly inverse to yours over the past few weeks.

“Yes,” You respond with an amount of sincerity that matches hers, “Subsisting on nothing is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love it.”

“Cool,” she says, simultaneous to grabbing your plate, “This is why you’re a skinny bitch. And short.”

“Explain her then,” you point your fork at Fallon, but keep your eyes on the courtyard below. “And lower your voice, there’s something moving across the parking lot.”

“Science can’t explain every mystery yet,” Gert says airily, as if some oracle dispensing wisdom to the masses as she eats ramen noodles covered in chocolate syrup. Not someone who needs to worry about shambling horrors because she’s spent too much time out here playing target practice with them. And might be immune to their interest. How fortunate. 

But Fallon perks up as she peers across the courtyard, hand hovering at the railing, squinting through the fading evening light. “I think that’s a person,” she whispers.

“Inside,” you say, impatient, and for once the girls listen, only pausing to bring their plates inside and settle with them in front of the shades to peer through and keep an eye out. 

If they’re a person, they don’t look well. Their shirt is torn and bloody, and they’re cradling their abdomen. None of you heard anything, and you only spotted them by chance. The injury can’t be new or you would’ve heard screaming or gunshots or some kind of violence. Not a lot of noise pollution to drown it out anymore. So the chance of getting bitten is about zero -they’d be laid out writhing to death in fever convulsions by now. But a gut wound? Ugh. They ought to kill themself and get it over with.

On cue to try to ruin everything as usual, you hear Gert blurt out, “If you’re a real doctor why don’t you help her?”

“That,” you point, “is a walking corpse.”

“No she’s not, she’s alive. Look, she’s holding her wound.”

“Which means she may as well be dead. What do you want me to do, gastrointestinal surgery on a kitchen table?” 

She stares you down in confusion, “Uh… yeah? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Surgery. Fallon said you were a surgeon.”

You laugh in shock.

“That’s. No. I started my residency a few months ago and was planning on going into thoracic-”  
She shushes you, “I don’t know what that means and I don’t care. Are you serious that you’re gonna be useless about this and let that lady die?”

“Yes,” you inform her flatly.

“Well, I’m gonna help her,” she responds huffily.

“Gertrude Garth I will lock your ass out of here,” you try to threaten, but she shakes her head.

“And then what? Fallon will let me in. In fact,” she spins on her heel to face her, “I bet she’ll come help.”

There is a long silence, which is spread further by Fallon’s uncomfortable fidgeting. She clasps her hands together to still it before she says, doubtful, “I’m not sure if this is a good idea.”

You decide to be an adult and keep your face as blank as possible, and do not rub salt in the wound no matter how much you would like to, as you watch Gert’s face fall.

“It’s just,” Fallon starts, “Is there anything we can really do to help?”

“No,” you say at the same time as Gert insists, “Yes.”

She glares at you, “How are you supposed to know unless she’s right here where you can see and actually assess this? Maybe it’s not that bad. She’s not like, screaming and crying. Maybe it just looks bad. Or like, I saw in a movie how these people got past zombies by covering themselves in their guts and shit, so maybe she’s trying to do that.”

“If she’s covered in viscera, even more of a reason to not go near her,” you counter.

“She can take a fucking bath!”

“How? How is she going to take a bath?”

“There’s bleach under the fucking sink, bitch!”

“Yes, let’s pour bleach in an open gut wound.”

“If she’s dying already anyway why do you care?”

Fallon cuts into the argument with a tentative, “How about we go out and see if she’s hurt, and if it’s something we can help with we do. If we can’t… well, we can at least set her up in a different apartment and try to make it a little easier on her.”

Gert looks triumphant, but you pause, and push further. “Easier how?”

“You know,” Fallon hedges, “Just… give her a meal and something to drink. Relative comfort.”

“I’m not wasting bullets to put her out of her misery, if that’s what you’re trying to get around to.”

Gert gives you a dirty look, as if unsurprised you’d suggest such a thing, but Fallon hurries past the subject with a quick, “We can talk about that later.” Which means it’s exactly what her plan is, and there’s no way you’re letting her do it so, of course, it’s going to fall on you.

You heave an overburdened sigh, as your life consists of being forced to indulge the whims of two teenage idiots at all times, or abandon them to die. 

“This is a bad idea” you note, “and I’m going to tell you ‘I told you so’ later, as a heads up.”


	16. The Fire Sermon x.3

Tempting as it is to let the girls go fuck up by themselves, you’re not about to sit back and let your little sister murder herself via altruism to prove a point. 

“I want my old one,” Gert complains when you hand her a perfectly serviceable aluminum bat you found while rifling through nearby apartments, panning for useful objects in multiple ex-residents’ years of accumulated trash. 

“Go back to your boyfriend Colin’s house and get it yourself,” you snap, losing patience. Humoring their idiotic rescue mission isn’t enough. 

Gert rolls her eyes so hard you wish they’d pop out of her fat head. “Woooow, mature.”

“If you think I didn’t hear an unfortunate amount of your… discussion that night, I’d like to remind you I was also in the same house you were.”

Fallon and Gert exchange doubtful glances, as if this couldn’t possibly be true.

“Maybe you forgot the part where I was the only sober one, because you were so high you didn’t even realize you were shrieking.”

Gert attempts to deflect, as always. “Who doesn’t smoke weed? Narc.”

“Your brother’s a cop.”

“Uh, your dad’s a cop. He’s the head cop. I bet he only hired my brother to look less racist.”

“Don’t be stupid, he’s never tried to look less racist in his life. That’s his entire fucking personality.”

Fallon winces, pained by her failure to cure Marcus of racism before the apocalypse, or suffering the mundane discomfort of being uncomfortable in the petty squabbling. 

You point to Gert’s scabbed over bite, “My point is: maybe you can sexually harass the giant teen psychopath into giving us our stuff back if you have such a fucking problem with me getting you shit, while you do nothing except convince Fallon to commit to stupid ideas.”

Fallon raises a brow delicately, arched in a way that promises retribution. But instead of rising to the bait, she checks the structural integrity of the tangle of hair she’s wrangled up on her head, and insists loudly over the both of you, “I think that’s enough stalling.” It isn’t, but it’s as far as you’ll get with it. After a triple check, the three of you are out the door.

The apartment complex is narrow and would’ve been poorly lit before the electric grid went down. No windows in the claustrophobic hallways, only lifeless fluorescents in neat rows, useless, overhead. 

“You  _ really  _ haven’t found a flashlight yet?” Fallon asks, eyeing the doors to the stairwell. There are a few broken table legs you jammed through the handles to bar it from the inside, but nothing complicated enough to be impossible to redo without breaking, even in the dim light. 

“Just candles,” You shrug, as Gert undoes your work faster with two working hands at her disposal. The healing bite doesn’t seem to bother her, despite the way her skin pulls taught at its edges. 

Fallon ponders the practicality of hauling overpriced smelly candles in massive glass jars around, but you tune it out, and eventually Gert hushes her as the three of you sneak down the stairs -a miniscule window letting some of the waning sunlight in through its caked on grime- and out into the entranceway and parking lot/courtyard combo. You don’t see any girls besides the usual annoyances in your life, but there’s no mobile cannibal corpses either. 

“Stick together,” You begin, but Gert and Fallon ignore you (as usual) and dart ahead to start picking their way through the half empty parking lot, to the other side of the horseshoe of apartments. They move from abandoned car to car, like stepping stones across a river, as you keep watch, shadowed in the arch of the doorway back inside. They’re smart enough to use the cars as cover, but stupid enough not to expect trouble from the direction it inevitably comes: up.

You see the glint of a gunbarrel reflecting light seconds before you hear the shot. You have enough time to take a breath, that’s it.   
“Oh shit-” Gert’s voice carries across the lot. Not the kind of “oh shit” that signals a bullet wound. Just the kind that says “We are trapped behind this car and can’t get back to safety”.

It’ll suffice, for now.

“Stay put,” you call, “They’re on the third floor.” There is an unspoken  _ I’ll take care of it _ in your timbre that Fallon should understand. 

But you don’t get the chance to see what dumb shit way the girls can fuck this up further. In a twist of fate, it looks like someone even stupider than them exists. The girl they insisted needed rescuing emerges from whatever hole she’d been laying low in and climbs on top of one of the cars, waving her arms and yelling up at the shooter to stop. 

It works though. There isn’t a second shot as she scrambles off the rusted fender she perched on. You aren’t close enough to get a good view, but her clothes and hands are smeared with enough rust colored blood that it’s easy to miss there’s no actual wound. She moves easily as she heads to where Gert and Fallon remain low. She’s confident. Despite whatever trap this was supposed to be failing, she doesn’t seem concerned it could turn ugly on her. Maybe that bodes well -maybe it’s part of this con you simply don’t understand. 

“Sorry about that, didn’t realize other people were here,” You hear as she reaches a hand out to one of the girls out of your view, “You’re lucky Malcolm’s hurt so his aim’s off. He’s a bit serious with the whole shoot first, questions later deal. We should get back inside before the noise draws anyone else.”

Ah. More people. So you wandered into a trap for someone else they planned to murder. Getting involved in some fucking feud is a terrible idea, so you know Fallon and Gert will agree to it under the guise of trying to Do Good.

Sure enough, the girls chatter in quiet voices and you see Fallon gesture back at you. They wave you over, expectantly. You sigh.

As you make your way to where the girls cluster, you overhear more. Fallon, as usual, is offering your services as the world’s shittiest doctor to help patch someone up despite the lack of supplies and ability to do anything remotely long term. You eye the girl - of a height with Gert and Fallon, but so pale and light haired she makes Fallon look sun kissed in the middle of winter. Another teen. There’s still a hint of baby fat to her face that makes you suspect she’s even younger than Gert and Fallon. Wonderful. 

“So, then, she shot him -he says it’s not bad but I don’t believe him. He winces a lot if he thinks I’m not watching. But once we holed up here it’s been real quiet and I know she’s just trying to wait us out until we let our guard down. Thought maybe we could bait her back. Malcolm hated the idea so I just left and I knew he’d make sure I didn’t get hurt.” She blabbers on brightly. You exchange a look at your sister, who seems kind of amused. Jesus. This one is even worse than your brats. 

“Who is this guy?” Gert asks, nosy, “Your boyfriend?”

The girl rolls her eyes, “Something like that.” Gert and Rail make sympathetic noises at her. She doesn’t expand, but her exasperation makes you preemptively exhausted by teen dating politics and having to be exposed to the passive aggression tension of teenagers with commitment issues when all  _ this _ is going on. It’s like every adult besides you died and left you to babysit a world of stupid children from cannibal monsters.

As the group of you head inside, the girl, Rail, as she introduces herself, continues sharing her entire life history and how she got to the half of the apartments you hadn’t gotten far enough into to notice were inhabited. Every so often you try to nudge the conversation towards just how injured her boyfriend is, or who exactly is hunting them down and why, but she never quite makes it to the fucking point. Mostly she tries to brush you off and bulldoze over the conversation to talk to Gert and Fallon. Five minutes after a near brush with death, the three of them seem to have decided they are all best friends. Rail clearly misses having teen girls to talk shit with, and will not let you ruin this for her. 

It’s kind of pathetic enough you decide not to torture a lonely 15 year old, and check out of the conversation instead. You really hope she’s 15. Having to acknowledge anyone younger than that is still alive and trying to remain so is too depressing to contemplate. 

This side of the building is a shit show -it looks like there was looting long before you started scavenging, but the fire damage and collapsed ceilings would’ve prevented passage anyway. Some of it seems recent and you suspect this kid of intentionally making it worse to block off easy access to the third floor. Rail leads you to a door identical to your own apartment. With a sharp rap that’s just for show, she swings the unlocked door open and announces, “I brought company!”

There’s a muffled response from a nearby room, but you hang back to give the apartment a once over after Rail slides the dead bolt home behind you and goes to give the kid an update. The place looks like someone ransacked it before these two arrived. A few half assed attempts at straightening up were made, but they didn’t get far. Maybe boredom quashed further progress. Maybe futility. You feel a stab of pity, but you can’t afford hangers-on and worry this is exactly what the girls are going to conspire at. Best to intervene before any kind of offer is made.

You trail into the livingroom after the girls. Gert is making weird faces at Fallon, who is doing her best to look unfazed. Before you can ask, someone else cuts to the chase first.

“What did you say to them?”

It is not a teen boy’s voice. In fact, the man laid out on the couch, looks like he easily has ten years on  _ you _ . He sounds even more aggrieved than you do on a daily basis. The wound can’t be a salve on his patience, either. He’s beaky, and wan, with a thin sheen of fever sweat which isn’t great. Also it just makes him look like shit, on top of his unfortunate fate of being born a ginger.

You give Rail a long look, which she doesn’t even blink at, before you say, “You must be Malcolm then. Ignore the girls, they’ve forgotten how normal social interaction works.”

“He’s a doctor.” Rail chirps from behind you.

Malcolm isn’t impressed. In fact, he seems wary and distrustful, and also pretty fucking annoyed. You suspect that’s aimed more at her than the bunch of you. Or you’re projecting your own irritations with teen girls who don’t listen to a goddamn thing you ask of them onto him. His discomfort is easy to read however you want.

“No promises I can do anything for you,” You warn, but he waves you off. This wasn’t his idea in the first place. He has no expectations, which makes you wonder how grim this wound is about to look. A good time to shoo the girls away then, you think, despite the fact there’s nothing you are capable of shielding them from anymore. They’ve seen worse.

You commit anyway, archly announcing to the kids, “There’s something called a right to privacy. Get out of our hair.” 

Fallon tries to object, ever ready for a learning opportunity or way to try to weasel into “helping”, but the others drag her along to hole up in the bedroom. The last thing you hear are loud comparisons of Cool Scars before the thin door snaps behind them and their words become a blanket of ambiguous sound more than a conversation. 

Malcolm’s gaze fixes you in place as he says, “A little young to be a doctor.”

“A little old to be hanging around such a young girl,” you return lightly.

“I’m her uncle,” he insists.

“Don’t look similar enough to pull that off,” You say, before shutting him down, “Not when she’s telling people a different story. Now, let’s see where you got shot.”

He doesn't react beyond a small frown and eyeing the bedroom door, which isn’t promising. You hunker down next to the couch as he strips blankets off -an even worse sign, in the oppressive late summer heat -to reveal ugly cargo shorts he must be wearing for modesty’s sake. He rolls the fabric halfway up his thigh, exposing not gauze, but old t-shirts, torn in strips and wound around tight. You suspect they belonged to the apartment’s prior occupants. Guess that answers if they have access to anything remotely sterile.

Not that it matters. The exposed skin is mottled red.

Without removing the makeshift bandages, you level your gaze at Malcolm, and say aloud what you both already know: “A doctor doesn’t need to tell you that this is infected.”

It’s an ugly death sentence, without access to antibiotics.

“Send the kid to ransack a RiteAid. Pharmacies might be stripped this far into the city, but maybe a vet’s office has something usable if that’s a bust,” You suggest.

“No,” he says, unrelenting as a slammed door.

You shrug, “Then let her watch you die, slowly. She’ll have to fend for herself in the end, may as well deal with that, without the ordeal of dying first.”

Malcolm looks you over, his mouth a hard, thin line of disapproval. He’s quiet - stubbornly so - and the wider that void stretches, the more taut your patience. He won’t say what he wants, putting the burden on you to guess, so you cut off the least plausible branch this could take.

“Two is more than enough teen girls to try to keep alive,” You say, as blunt as he is unforthcoming, “And a strict no strays policy.” 

The idea of leaving some kid to die doesn’t sit right with you, but as things are… There’s only so much to go around. Making tough calls was part of your job. Hell, if you don’t see it, you won’t even know for sure. 

“We can work something out,” Malcolm’s firmness, like you’ve already agreed and he is navigating the conversation only to remind you, has the opposite effect of ameliorating your stance.

You cross your arms and arch a brow. “Convince me.”

“It’s an equal bargain. I’m not asking you to take her on, but give us a hand getting antibiotics, and we’ll help you deal with the thief.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

He gestures out the window, across the combination courtyard/parking lot, to where your apartment is. “I almost shot one of you because the sun was in my eyes, with this time of day. I saw movement, assumed it was someone else. Stupid mistake. But I thought there were four of you when I put the gun down. Two by the doors, two by the cars. One came, the other stayed. But it’s just the three of you, right? You said you’re only watching out for two teen girls.”

You feel as clammy as he looks. At no point did you realize someone was, what -right behind you as you watched the girls? What the fuck?

“She stalked us down here after she took our supplies and shot me. Caught us off guard. I figured she’d get bored of waiting us out, but once she noticed we weren’t the only occupants, she must have focused on you, the new marks, instead,” Malcolm says, much too calm, “She’ll try to pick you off too. But numbers are on our side. If you’re willing to work something out of course.”

You stare out the window, but the sun reflects off the apartment windows on the other side, obscuring the chance to see within. The door to the balcony is cracked just wide enough to imagine any shadows as figures, moving just beyond the curtain. Malcolm has a gun. You have a broken hand.

“Alright,” You sit in the ratty armchair besides the couch, “Let’s work something out.”


	17. The Fire Sermon x.4

“Is that her?” Gert whispers to Rail, the four of you huddled close in the hollowed shell of what was once a CVS. In midday, the light barely permeates past the entryway. Dark. Shelves knocked all over, in a mess of cheetos and cheap lip gloss. The pharmacy, of course, nestled in the back. Like every CVS. Doesn’t matter if it’s shoved somewhere awkward when it has a drive through, until you’re breaking in and the electric grid has long since sputtered out.

In between it and your increasing herd of small girls is something more worrisome: a figure.

You got up early for this. When the fuck were you ever on the south side? No car now to fuck around with and search for any place worth scavenging in the first place. Rail insisted the best plan would be splitting ways, “to cover more ground”, but Fallon managed to convince her otherwise, or talked her in circles enough to confuse her into agreeing to stay with the rest of the group. You remember her saying she took off on Malcolm, and don’t envy him. At least Gert and Fallon have  _ some _ self preservation.

The flight from the Cooper household left you with jack shit, but Malcolm lent you the rifle he nearly blew Gert’s head off with. Rail had a handgun you swapped her for. You have no illusions about Malcolm giving her instructions to shoot, if you tried to make off with either weapon. As much as he might’ve tried to appeal to emotion by dangling a teen girl as a guilt tactic, you wonder how things would’ve gone if your places were switched. 

Whatever. Two guns, to the four of you. Could be worse.

The four of you crouched in a dark CVS with two guns, and someone in your way could also be worse.

Rail squints, but shrugs.

“It’s too dark. They look scared. Maybe hurt? I don’t know,” She says, doubt heavy in her tone.

You aren’t as hesitant, “Wow, we haven’t been tricked by that ruse before. Wonder where she picked that up.” 

Fallon shushes you.

“There’s shit all over the floor,” Gert hisses, “How are we supposed to get closer without her hearing? Give her a warning shot or something.”

“No way,” Fallon counters, “What if it’s someone else?”

It’s too dark to make out any details. How the hell Gert even spotted them is a mystery. Only after she pointed to the figure sitting quietly, curled around themself, in the dark by the pharmacy counter did you even notice the shape in the dark. 

“Whoever it is, there’s no way they don’t hear us whispering,” You say flatly. There’s no cars driving by, or electric hum, or fans, or anything to give background noise as cover, “They’re hiding, and not trying to defend themself or get away. Not even hide better. You sure your thief works alone?”

Rail nods.

“She approached us like she was friendly, at first. It’s just her.” 

“What’s she look like?” Gert asks, staring intently, like she can will herself to see in the dark.

“Red hair. Probably why Malcolm shot at you,” She admits apologetically, “Tall. Skinny.”

“Can we just try to say hi?” Fallon offers in frustration, “All I see is a shadowy blob.”

“I can see him,” Gert says, as the rest of your squint at the formless shape in consternation.

“Okay. Well. Tell him we won’t hurt him,” Fallon says.

She takes a breath, and a foot forward, and the crinkle of chip bags is enough.

The screaming starts. 

It’s high and animal and every one of you freezes in shock at the noise as it winds louder, and louder, and louder. It echoes in on itself in the vacuum of the derelict building. You can barely think, noise so deafening it disorients all your senses.

But it can only be coming from one place. By the counter, the figure writhes, crawls towards you. 

The thing Gert thought was a boy isn’t a person anymore, only a loosely stitched together grab bag of violent impulses and noise. It barely tries to lunge for you, all its energy focused on screaming so loud you worry your ears are bleeding. A sharp pop makes your hearing go fuzzy, off to your left -Rail, clipping it in the ear with the rifle and missing its fucking throat. The scream thrums with the sound of a sob, wobbling at its edges.

“We need to GO,” You shout over the noise. It’s hard to know if they could hear. You’re not sure if you imagined your own voice. The wailing is a drill, pounding through your skull. 

It’s enough: Gert nods, Fallon gives a thumbs up. They got it. 

But Rail looks at you like you’re the one screaming.

“More will come,” You try to explain over the noise, but she has no time for it.

She shakes her head, tries to push further in, but you snatch her by the back of the collar and drag her back, heading to the door. 

“No!” She shrieks, almost as shrill as the monster howling in the back and clutching its ear, “You promised you’d help.”

Movement stirs at the other entrance.  
“We are going. Now. Fallon, take her gun.”

They both look surprised, but Rail more so when Fallon follows through in a fit of common sense.

“Don’t worry,” she tries to yell as everyone makes for the way you came in, “We will!”

Gert snatches the gun from Fal, there’s another deafening pop and flash of light, and the shrieks end in silence. “Got ‘im.” You can’t tell if it’s a whisper or a yell, but you haul Rail bodily after as the other girls haul ass out the door.

***

“Walk,” You give Rail a sharp shove between the shoulder blades. She glares back at you with red rimmed eyes, and you don’t give a fuck because your head is pounding like the worst hangover you’ve ever experienced. An upset child is the least of your worries. 

Gert and Fallon exchange glances, a wordless decision to attempt damage control conveyed between them. Gert puts a hand on Rail’s shoulder. Not like you. Gentle. Her voice matches it, whispering quiet promises about how it was a bad situation, how you’ll find something else. 

What you ought to do is take the guns and leave the kid behind. Her baggage isn’t your problem -her sick babysitter, murderous stalker-thief, all this stupid bullshit she dragged the bunch of you into without considering anyone else. What happens if you can’t find anything, or return to a dead man with a child who will blame you for being too slow? You’ll inherit her grudge on top of her baggage, and that’s an even surer knife in the back after enough time to nurse that resentment into something vicious and festering.

Getting out of the CVS turned into a clusterfuck. Shutting that thing up was a mistake -a vacuum left in the wake of its noise. The sounds of your own clumsy escape filled it, without anything else but the footfalls of everything it drew in with its siren screams.

Honestly, you have no idea where the fuck you ended up while getting out of there. A mad dash to... Somewhere. How you’ll make it back -assuming you follow through on that front- yet another problem to push off until another day, when maybe one day things will return to normal and things can be  _ dealt with _ , or the weight of accumulated issues will simply kill you beforehand. 

The here and now though: suburbs. The cross pollination of urban outskirts of the city. There’s foliage besides cultivated old peach trees in orderly lines down boulevards. Lawns. Fences. Now that’s what really saved you. Hopping a fence with three girls hovering around five foot was a task, but Fallon’s small enough to haul like a sack of potatoes. The other two proved more capable, thank god. It didn’t matter if you tried to pick those things off strategically, or stay quiet, or anything. Too many were milling around the area. Impossible to kill them all, but equally difficult to shake.

A barrier was what it took, and once you found an area with fenced yards, you were quick to make several hops between them, before finding a spot to catch your breath. 

But there’s never really a moment of rest anymore. Gert busy trying to comfort Rail, Fallon bobbing her head at you in a complicated sideways maneuver you suspect means “Go apologize” or “Back Gert up”, you pointedly ignoring this all distract you. Being half deaf can’t help.

There’s movement in your peripheral vision. The back door to the house whose yard you’re squatting in slides open and a shape darts out towards you -without thinking you fire a shot in the direction. Why would you think- something running at you is enough these days.

It’s. Well. 

The silence is more deafening in the wake of that shot than in the CVS.

Gert gapes, and illustrates helpfully, “Oooooh you done fucked up now.”

Midway through the yard is the sad little corpse of a fluffy white dog, now very dead, with its midsection blown out courtesy of you. Someone let their dog out to piss and you shot it.

That someone hovers at the open door. The scraggly young man sees the remains of his dog, looks upward as if god himself will answer, or maybe strike you down if he’s lucky. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 


	18. The Fire Sermon x.5

A guilt-strained silence descends. Well. Mostly your guilt. But you suspect the others feel a secondhand guilt, on your behalf. Everyone stares at the little dog, laid out in the overgrown grass. 

“That was an accident,” you admit, lamely, and holster the gun in your waistband with your hands up. Gert still has the rifle if things go bad. It’s worth trying to deescalate the situation. 

Unfortunately, the dog is less dead than you thought. Its little body convulses as it makes a horrible sound, only making everything ten times worse, including its wound. Blood stains its pristine fur. Before you sprayed its insides out its abdomen, it was looking better than the lot of you. 

“Shit,” the kid mutters to himself. He, however, does not look much better off than you when he steps out into the yard and toes the dog. It does its best to bite through his shoe with a snarl and last spurt of strength. You can’t blame it -it’s a stupid animal in pain, struggling through what it can’t understand. The kid rears away in disgust and asks “Can you- just. Shoot it again. This is gross.”

Rail levels a look of disappointed shock at him. Clearly she doesn’t understand a lost cause.

“Yeah,” you say, “Sorry about this.”

Rail doesn’t watch, and Gert is more concerned with scoping the kid out. Fallon doesn’t flinch from watching you put the thing out of its misery, and neither does the kid. He’s tall and broad, but too young to fill his bones out properly yet. Otherwise you’d’ve pegged him as much older. He looks haggard -eyes lined by stress or lack of sleep. Enough stubble it’s bordering on beard. Curly dark hair unkempt, and rapidly shifting towards unwashed. Maybe he is older than you thought. Something about the way he carries himself says he’s used to this kind of mental breakdown, which screams college to you as much as it does “zombie apocalypse”.

“OK,” He says after a deep breath, “You get to come tell my mom you murdered her dog. She’ll never let me back in if she thinks I did it.”

“Door’s still open,” Rail points out, helpfully.

“Wow, thanks. Thanks! Thanks for this whole thing! I love it when I find a bunch of random fucking people in the backyard and they begin shooting like I’m the trespasser. I know the door is open, I’m not talking about the  _ house _ .”

Gert asks, “Back where, then?”

He shakes his head, “Like I need to tell you anything.”

Fallon makes the mistake of laughing, “Um, you said you were bringing us there, so you might as well tell us where we are going. We don’t actually have to join you. Like, sorry about the dog or whatever, but full offense: you don’t seem that upset anyway.”

You disagree. Maybe he’s not upset about the dog but this kid is on edge. You don’t like it. The girls, naturally, smell blood in the water and latch on like fucking remoras.

“You’re not even sad,” Rail accuses him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s a gross ankle biter so I get it but wow,” Fallon rolls her eyes, as Gert cuts in again by insisting, “I’m not going into some random house with a homeless looking guy just because Ashley killed his dog. Not until you tell us who you are, and where you plan on taking us if not the house.”

You see the kid ball up his fists and hear how tight his voice is as he bites out, “Fine. I hated the dog. And it’s a fucking bunker. Are you happy?” 

“You just happened to have a bunker?” Fallon asks, incredulous. “Was your mom some paranoid doomsday-prepper?”

“No- it’s. It’s not ours. Which is the only reason I’m not gonna be left to fucking die if you just explain this.” He mutters to himself about how maybe that would be preferable, and Gert looks at him like he is the dirt beneath her.

“Woooow,” She draws out. “Edgy.”

“How about,” you interrupt this game of kick the time bomb, “we stop trying to annoy the young man. You have a name?” You make the girls introduce themselves. It seems to remind the kid of his own manners and he tells you his name is JC before asking you to follow him inside. You eye Gert. She nods and keeps hold of the rifle. 

The house is dark, as every house is, but there are plenty of blackout curtains making it worse than others. A conspicuous number of unlit candles litter the surfaces you can make out. Rail starts to pull out a flashlight, but Gert puts a hand on hers and shakes her head.

“So this isn’t your house?” You ask conversationally as you follow JC further in the dark house. Muscle memory guides him, but the rest of you stumble clumsily after him. 

“No,” He admits, “My mother knows them. She noticed something was up- they're researchers at the CDC or something. God knows how the fuck she managed to weasel into their good graces, but she’s a vulture, so here we are. A stupid fucking bunker with too many people crammed in it. I’m waiting for her to murder them in their sleep one day.”

“How many people?”

“You’ll see.” He opens a door leading down to the basement. You can feel Gert tense up behind you. Probably not over her time with the Coopers. Even so, you shuffle downstairs after him, but it’s not a basement at all, only a few stairs until a landing. In the dark you can’t see it, but you hear the metal door he leans over to knock out a truncated pattern on. A minute later, deadbolts slide away and the door unhinges without a creak. There’s light coming up from below. There’s another fucking scrawny kid holding up the door, because only teenagers have survived this somehow. His hair’s in his face but you can see his surprise.

“Um,” he says, dumbfounded by the crowd at the door. “Who are these people?”

“They shot the dog,” JC intones flatly. “And are coming to apologize to my mother.”

“Oh. Okay.” He moves aside and watches, curious, as everyone shuffles down. Unlike JC he isn’t a fucking mess. There’s electricity of some kind down here -you can hear a hum in the background and suspect there’s a generator tucked away -and maybe even running water. The level of grease JC has is cultivated by comparison.

“Are you gonna introduce us?” Gert asks.

JC ignores her and walks out of the anteroom to the rest of the bunker, expecting you to follow. 

“He’s very rude,” Fallon sniffs.

“Uh,” the boy remaining hesitates but southern politeness catches him in its grip, “Can I get you anything?”

“What do you have?” Rail demands.

“We would appreciate that,” Your sister begins pointing the rest of you out, one by one.

“It’s nice to meet you…?”

“Ted,” the boy says. He seems both stressed and amused by the girls hounding him at once for information about himself and the bunker.

You settle for finding out through observation and shoulder through the doorway after JC. Judging by the placement, you think this must have been a basement space converted into a bunker by some paranoid CDC weirdos. Guess they won out on that, though. There’s a main space, but a few areas sectioned off. A couch that looks like it pulls out into a bed. A kitchenette. A door that leads to a closet sized space, probably a bathroom. Shelves and shelves of all kinds of supplies and dry goods. JC is talking to a severe looking red head woman, as an Asian man and dark haired woman watch on, nervous. They all look up as you enter.

“So, you must be the man who shot my dog,” the woman says witheringly.

You freeze. Well. Can’t blame her for the attitude.

“Sorry -with everything going on we were a bit jumpy.”

“You were trespassing. Of course a dog tried to defend its home.”

You give her a look of mild disbelief. “We had bigger concerns. Are you down here for fun, or do you have any idea what it’s like out there?”

The older couple exchange glances.

“JC said you worked at the CDC,” you try, “Do you know-”

“Of course not,” JC’s mother interrupts smoothly. You suspect she’s prepared for this. “There was some kind of illness spreading, and all that violence around the city. Then electricity cut out and data went down, so we haven’t left. We were waiting things out.”

With how tense it is, you don’t entirely believe her level of ignorance, but can’t discern why she’d lie or about what. JC is practically grinding his teeth from how hard he’s clenching his jaw.

“Right,” You start, “Well it’s a shit show out there.”

The kids file in behind you, and Rail blurts out, “Wow, you weren’t kidding,” as Ted makes a little motion showing off the place.  _ Tadaaa~ _

“Do you really have Arizona iced tea?” Gert asks as she peers at the shelves.

Fallon gasps dramatically, “Are those Lofthouse cookies?”

Ted’s parents -that’s who they must be -focus on him in a joint look of disappointment. Clearly he isn’t supposed to be offering out the bunker supplies. He stares at his feet and mumbles, “I can get you water.”

“It seems like you’re well supplied down here,” You say conversationally. None of the adults have noticed you’re armed. Gert isn’t holding the rifle anymore. She must have left it in the anteroom -you glance back to make sure Ted isn’t closer to the doorway.

You continue, focusing on Ted’s parents, “We don’t want to bother you, but if you worked for the CDC I have to ask: Do you have any medicine stockpiled down here?” You gesture towards Rail. “Her uncle got a wound that’s festering a bit and we could use some antibiotics if you have some to spare. Given how healthy you all are.” Gert almost spits out the water Ted hands off to her at the word “uncle”, but Fallon nudges her and it turns into a strained cough.

JC’s mom interrupts yet again to deny you. “No. We don’t. This isn’t a charity, and if it were, why on earth would we give you anything? You just killed my dog.”

“It was an accident. Look, he’s… a good sort to have in your good graces. I guarantee he’d come back to try to repay the favor, and if he tries to back out she’ll never let him live it down.” Rail nods along in support, your prior sins against her forgiven.

“No,” this evil bitch repeats. Ted’s parents look uncomfortable in the background, but don’t challenge her. You briefly consider the use of force but a stray bullet ricocheting around could fuck you over worse than them. Not worth it.

“Alright,” You concede, “Sorry about the dog. We’ll get out of your hair.”

“Whaaat?”

“Already? C’mon.”

“Now. We’re leaving.”

The girls whine and Gert gulps down the rest of the water and hands the glass back to Ted, who looks disappointed by the departure, as sudden as your arrival.

It’s not until you’re on the front porch, door snapping behind you, that you turn to the girls and inform them, “Let’s stay in one of the houses next door. They all have fences. Neighborhood seems quiet.”

They’re all wound up from being around so many people, seeing so many things they used to take for granted. Maybe some breaking and entering will give them something to focus on. You call it house hunting, and suddenly it becomes a game, and the girls are enjoying themselves as you explore ugly suburban McMansions.

The most promising one is directly across the street. The attic converted to bedrooms, plenty of space, tall fencing, and utterly abandoned. With spare heavy furniture placed in front of doors and windows, it feels more secure than anywhere you’ve hidden out before.

The bunch of you settle in the kitchen, looking for anything edible but settling for LaCroix. The sun’s going down fast and you’re hungry enough it helps wash down some stale crackers.

Fallon side eyes you as her feet swing as she perches on a bar stool at the expensive island in the middle of the room, “You could’ve asked them for directions.” 

“No way,” Gert says, “They were sketchy as fuck.”

“Maybe they poisoned you,” Rail suggests and takes a sip of LaCroix as Gert blanches.

“Ted was the only nice one! He wouldn’t.”  
“Yeah, he wanted to share…”

“Maybe not the cookies, did you see his face?”

The girls giggle and shove at each other, so you take advantage of their good humor.

“We’re going back later tonight,” You say cheerfully, “And ransacking the house. Fuck that bitch.”

Fallon swats at your arm, “It’s not hers! No way.”

“So what?” Rail says in a sudden burst of anger, “That didn’t stop them from letting her walk all over everyone.”

“They had so much stuff Fal,” Gert says quietly, “You think they left anything they can’t spare up there anyway?”

“Or,” Fallon pushes on, “We could settle for having bad neighbors and set up shop here until things quiet down. They don’t even know what’s really going on! I bet all the other privacy fences do a good job of keeping those things out. And we could use some to board up windows and doors and, you know, make some place actually safe to stay in.”

“I think they know exactly what’s going on,” You say.

“Ted said JC’s cousin comes and goes,” Rail points out in support of your theory. “She must be telling them. He said she brings stuff back sometimes.”

“What else did he say?” You ask, surprised by the decent source of information. Looks like lonely teens will share anything with each other. Finally the gaggle of children pays off.

“JC’s mom and dad were in the middle of a divorce,” Gert supplies, “And he lives in some nearby neighborhood. The cousin visits him too. I guess she isn’t into being cooped up all the time. There were all those candles upstairs...”

“Obviously, we should just hang around in a nearby house and try to meet this girl. Maybe she could give us directions.” Fallon decides.

Rail glares at her, “No? That’s a waste of time.”

“Keep an eye out for anyone walking around,” you suggest, “We can figure out a plan later. I didn’t see any guns in that bunker, and if they never leave I guarantee they’ll have no idea we’re over here. We can afford to wait a little.”

“What about Malcolm?” Rail demands, “He can’t afford to wait. I know it’s worse than he said it was.”

“He’ll be fine,” You say lightly.

She picks up the half-empty can of LaCroix and bounces it off your forehead before bolting out of the kitchen in a fury. 

You swear and wipe seltzer out of your eyes as Gert laughs so hard she falls off the stool she was perched on netx to Fallon and onto the floor. She stops when you hear the door slam.

“Did she just leave?” Fallon asks nervously, not waiting for an answer and hurrying to a window. 

She twitches the curtain aside and you lean over her, just in time to see Rail stomping back across the street to where you came from.

“What does she think she’s doing?” You ask in alarm, “She can’t be serious.”

Gert joins you at the window, watching as Rail struggles with the lock on the front door, but gets through after shouldering the door a few times. You wince and hope whoever locked up after you went back into the bunker already.

“Oh my god,” Gert groans, “We can’t leave her. I bet they’re like, cannibals or something.” 

“You’re the ones who wanted to go back and ransack the place anyway,” Fallon says with a pout, “Guess you better commit.”

By the time you cross the street and re-enter the dark house, the sun is almost gone. Perfect. You blink through the curtain of darkness inside the quiet house, hearing the occasional creak that you hope is Rail upstairs.

“There must be matches somewhere. There were all those candles.” Gert and Fallon pat around blindly, but you grab them by the wrists and shush them when you hear footfalls on stairs. A light brightens the room, blinding you, but you hear Rail speak up and figure it’s her stupid little flashlight.

“I need help with the bathroom,” she demands, unsurprised that you followed. “There’s pills in there.” She tosses Fallon a matchbook.

Gert and Fallon stay downstairs, lighting candles and exploring, looking for anything worthwhile. You expect them to goof around the second you’re upstairs. Sure enough, they bypass the kitchen and follow up after you, whispering, and head off into the bedrooms. 

“No way Ted has any clothes that could fit my ass,” You catch from across the hall, and roll your eyes. The bathroom is neat, and you immediately begin grabbing everything out of the medicine cabinet. It’s all shit like benadryl and tylenol, but you try to make Rail feel better by telling her the ibuprofen will help. She maturely picks up a cup holding old toothbrushes, dumps them on the floor, and smashes the mirror with it before leaving to check another room.

You snatch some isopropyl alcohol and cotton balls before checking in on Fallon and Gert trying on Ted’s clothes. 

“Having fun?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you liked Ted.”

“He’s not using these anymore so I’m thinking of it as a gift from a friend,” Fallon says as she tries to look at her pancake ass in the mirror, dimly lit by candles.

“Sequins seem like a bad idea,” You essay doubtfully, but Gert says they’re back in fashion, missing your point.

Rail appears in the doorway, watching for a minute, before hesitantly saying, “I found something.” The three of you turn towards her.

“What is it?”

She leads you into another room -it looks like a guest room that someone made themselves comfortable in recently. It’s devoid of any personality, but the corner of the room has a bunch of useless junk piled in it.

Rail points at the pile, awkward.

“I don’t get it,” Gert says.

“That’s mine,” Rail clarifies, uncomfortable, “It’s my stuff. That woman stole my bag and that’s my stuff that was in it.”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

This time no one whines about it. 


	19. The Fire Sermon x.6

You grab whatever you can feasibly -and in Fallon’s case, less so -carry. Rail takes her belongings back from their stolen pile, as Gert loudly says, “Why’d she steal your clothes though? What a freak.” Fallon’s booty shorts-bedecked ass shines in glittery, bedazzled hypocrisy, unremarked upon.

You refile through the bathroom a final time, then go downstairs to see if there’s anything in the kitchen. While they might remain in the bunker most times, it’s apparent the house still sees use. The sheer amount of candles, mostly unlit even after Gert and Fallon got to them, is proof enough. You take every box of matches and lighter you can find, and a fair amount of candles on top of it. They’re all stupid smells that aren’t going to help the fact regular bathing is not an option these days, like spraying perfume on a corpse.

There’s a creak behind you and before you can turn around you hear the loud smack of a body colliding with another, and also what suspiciously sounds like the start of a slap fight. 

“What the fuck?” You hiss, putting your head out the door jamb into the hallway, fully expecting the girls to be doing something stupid. You’re wrong. They’re handling something pretty well for once.

“Those are my shorts,” Ted wheezes as Gert gently strangles him in some sort of headlock. Fallon has possession of the rifle and levels it at him, casual and chipper. “You can keep them,” He offers, on second thought, “They look good on you.”

“Thank you,” She smiles, “Now please don’t make this complicated.”

Rail scowls at him from the top of the stairwell. 

He realizes the camaraderie of earlier has run dry, and tries a different tactic.

“I wanted to help,” he chokes out, and Gert adjusts her grip around his neck so he can breathe better as she asks what he means.

He digs a small orange bottle of pills from his pocket.

“We had plenty. They’re for you.”

Rail comes down the stairs slowly and takes the plastic container from him, looking it over as if she knows anything. 

“Hand it to me,” you demand, and verify they’re antibiotics, before addressing Ted, “So what is it you want?”

“To leave.”

For. Fuck’s. Sake.

“Door’s open,” You gesture.

“I’ve been out with JC and Ellis before. I know it’s worse than our parents are acting…”

“So go out with them again.”

“I want to  _ leave _ . Try to help… there have to be other people out there. I mean, there’s you all. And your friend who’s hurt.”

It’s the right track to take with Rail, “You could come with me and Malcolm. He can’t say no if you keep him from dying. He’ll be thankful. And I’ll tell him it’s not a choice if he disagrees.”

Ted quirks an eyebrow, but seems relieved.

“What about your parents?” Fallon asks.

“You’ve seen them,” He rolls his eyes, “They’re fine with holing up down there forever. They’ll be just fine.”

“Wrong,” You shake your head, “They’ll think we fucking kidnapped you on top of stealing their shit.”

He looks around, “Well, you didn’t have to fuck with the house. It’s not even really ours, it’s my cousin’s. I mean, I get it. I didn’t feel right about not lending a hand when we’re fine and your friend isn’t...”

Ted may be sick of living in a comfortable hole but you are much more sick of hangers-on. Fallon sees your face and jumps in.

“I think it’s a great idea! You can help us find our way back since you know the area.”

Ted grimaces. “Well. Not really. Like I said -this is family’s place, not really ours. I lived up in Decatur.”

“Lucky you got out of there,” Gert informs Ted, as she lets go of him. “It’s a shit show that way. Over here is a breeze. All those people in the city… there was nowhere to go.”

Everyone falls into morbid silence. Ted rubs his neck absently.

“JC’s dad might be able to help,” He suggests, “He lives in some nearby neighborhood. I’ve gone there with JC and Ellis before. He really hates JC’s mom so would probably be nice just to spite her. And they’ve lived here awhile so… he could figure out where it is you’re trying to get to, I bet.”

Perfect.

“Who is Ellis?” You ask innocently. Rail goes to open her mouth but Fallon pinches her before she can say anything. Thank god it’s so fucking dark, evne with these stupid candles.

“JC’s cousin,” Ted reiterates. “She leaves a lot and travels a bunch. She says it’s to look for supplies and stuff but I think she’d mostly bored. She stays in the guest room a bunch when she’s around, but it’s been awhile. She might be with JC’s dad. I don’t know. She’s… weird.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but at least he’s not her biggest fan. Hopefully you can dump him on Malcolm before you take this bitch out, just in case he has scruples about the idea.

“We should leave before someone notices you’re gone,” Fallon suggests, then guiltily offers, “You can have your shorts back… if you want them…”

Ted politely declines, to get in her good books, but says he wants to grab stuff from his room. The girls follow him upstairs. This situation isn’t ideal… trashing the house probably wouldn’t get noticed any time soon, but Ted missing? Not something you want to be sleeping next door for, just to find out there’s a fucking armory downstairs. Bunker people always are extra gun-nuts, even for the South. There’s probably an AR-15 down there.

It’s warm out, and bright with the moon and no clouds in sight, but the idea of running around at night feels like a huge mistake. Fuck. Well, this went sideways fast.

When the gaggle of teens returns, you tell them it’s time to fucking go. Ted has aquired, of all things, a fucking compound bow. Thank god for stupid rich people hobbies besides golf. Archery looping into being kind of useful is beyond funny to you in this moment, but you don’t remark on the weapon of choice. At least he realizes the seriousness out there, even as he insists the neighborhood they’re going to is practically devoid of infected.

“It’s like, gated off or something. I think they managed to get it pretty well quarantined. It’s not just JC’s dad, there’s a bunch of neighbors and stuff. They usually have someone keeping watch and everything.”

“Sounds organized,” You remark, interested against your better judgement. Best to keep expectations low.

He lingers in the hallway with Gert and Fallon as you tell them you want to grab a few more things. You can hear Fallon asking Ted when he left Decatur for this area, and know she’s gonna start quizzing him on if he’s seen Brody, so duck into the living room to avoid her disappointment.

Rail is blowing out candles.

“Stop that,” you say, and cover the flame of the nearest one.

“It’s a fire hazard.”

“Exactly.”

She looks at you, puzzled.

You bring the candle to the window, blocked out by thick polyester curtains, and light the bottoms. Instantly, fire begins to climb up in slow, smoky ropes.

Rail is affronted, gestures below. “They could die.”

“They’re in a bunker, they’re perfectly safe,” You lie, hoping the structural damage traps them, “It’s to keep that woman from following after us. If she’s stalking us now, she’ll want to put the fire out, right? She brought your stuff here, it’s her home base. No way she’ll think we’re going to her uncle’s place, either.”

Rail doesn’t look convinced. Luckily, fixing that isn’t hard.

“They were going to let Malcolm die,” You point out, “And without Ted playing hero, that meant he was going to. You were right about not having time. We don’t have time to fuck around getting back, either. Understand?” 

She doesn’t look you in the eye, but the lines of her shoulders are hard, and she pushes a candle to the floor, where it rolls to the couch and flickers gently, licking towards it.

“Good girl,” You assure her, and give her back the hand gun. She pockets it, and the two of you make your way to the front door. “Let’s get out of here” 


	20. BEFORE: 7

SOME BITCH NAMED GERT  
  
I know what Fallon is doing but what abt you  
  
idkkkkkk Fallon’s kinda on me about applying to community college?? cant believe ur on my ass now too  
  
and don’t get me started on my brother  
  
s2g he thinks he’s my fuckin parent  
  
I was just asking  
  
andddd he sort of is bro  
  
Shut up I dont need ur apologism bc u wanna suck his dick  
  
wtf is wrong with u  
  
No i dont  
  
can u fuckin stop  
  
Looooooooooool ok sure  
  
thought of a good career plan for you  
  
u could just die  
  
that would be great  
  
what so u can try to cry into ingrid’s tits at my funeral? fuck off i’m not ur lifetime movie plot device  
  
oh my god STOP  
  
make me  
  
ur not allowed on the roadtrip. uninvited bitch  
  
hahahahaha i’d like to see u try  
  
it’s my car i wont let u in  
  
ill tell fallon and we’ll go on our OWN road trip in her rich bitch SUV  
  
she’d never not bring me  
  
ur right she’d be too busy worrying abt if u were capable of chewing ur food without her  
  
can we not  
  
is this why she calls u baby bird  
  
can’t fuckin eat solid food  
  
need someone to chew it for u first  
  
this is cyberbullying. i’m calling the police  
  
hmmm rounding back to my brother, yet AGAIN  
  
BRO, STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
hahaha  
  
bitch  
  



	21. Death By Water 3.1

As soon as the rain stopped pounding at the windshield, you parked the car on the side of the road and hunkered down. You still aren’t quite sure how those fucking things can tell between normal person and fresh zombie, but you don’t want to find out just how honed their senses are. You and Ted push the front seats forward, leaving leg room even Fallon would’ve found restrictive, and relocate to the back of the car. Doors locked, as always. You’ve long stripped off your outer layers to dry -wet and cold from your flight through the storm back to the car -and you use them in an effort to make a makeshift fort in the back of the car. It’s cramped with the two of you squeezed together down on the floor, jackets and sweatshirts a claustrophobic ceiling above you. But the discomfort is worth not getting spotted by a swarm of flesh hungry ghouls.

Your car can handle some bumps and scratches. But the swarms of these fuckers that show up after a storm… You don’t trust your windshield to hold if they get aggressive. So: Car locked. Engine off. Stupid fort in the back. Ted’s head bobs as he fights off sleep. You can’t see his face in the dark, but figure he’ll knock out soon. Envy creeps through your chest, in steady anxious pulses because your heart still hasn’t stopped pounding after the Cooper fiasco. 

“So,” You don’t hear anything outside and figure it’s safe to harass Ted out of getting sleep if you can’t manage to get any yourself, “That was pretty fucked up.”

“Yeah,” he agrees sleepily. Too sleepy to argue or tell you to shut up. Maybe it would be kinder to back off. Well. Not maybe -obviously it would be. So you don’t.

“Georgia Tech, huh?” You press further, “Can’t you talk to your fellow nerds and make the Yellowjackets back off?”

“Didn’t go,” Ted corrects, “Only got accepted. Don’t know them. Don’t care.”

“Fallon was good at bossing other nerds around. Be the alpha nerd Ted.”

His face isn’t clear in the dark, but his head snaps up to look at you. Or squint, you guess. You expect him to be annoyed or tell you to shut up, but he fidgets and pauses before admitting, “Well, I’m not her.”

“No shit,” You yawn.

“Why didn’t you ask Colin about her and Gert?”

“Why are you so nosy about my friends all of a sudden? You have a crush now too?”

There’s another pause Ted doesn’t fill.

“Please tell me you weren’t looking through her stuff and jerking off over her pictures back at the house, or some weird stalker shit,” You accuse, but he cuts you off with a laugh.

“Are you-” He shakes his head, “How is it possible to be so fucking stupid?” He kicks at you, but with his pathetic skinny legs, it’s like being beaten by a Slim Jim.

“Last night it’s all about how I’m _the gay one_ so should suck Colin’s dick for weed, but the second we’re alone I’m secretly lusting after your best girl friends. Because, God forbid, you might have to acknowledge-”

You slap a hand over his mouth. Mostly it’s because you desperately want him to shut up, but you shush him and whisper, “I heard something.” 

He doesn’t believe you. Instead he winds himself up into some kind of ridiculous hysterics.

Ted slaps your hand away and hisses with vehemence, “No matter how much you pretend it didn’t happen, it’s gay that you let me suck your dick Brody. It’s gay. Even just one time means it’s gay. You’re the gay one.”

Wow. You shove him, harder than necessary -no, actually, he deserves it. Fuck that. He’s completely wrong. And he needs to shut the fuck up, even if he weren’t being like -like _this_. His fat head bounces off the back of the passenger seat with a satisfying whump. 

“Can you fucking not?” You say, once it’s clear Ted hasn’t been brained by the blow. “Shut your big fucking mouth or-”

“Or what? Someone might hear that you’re queer? The world is over, you moron. It doesn’t matter! No one can hear me and even if they could do you think they give a flying fuck about you being a closet case?”

“Ted I’m fucking serious,” You start, but he slaps at you in the dark and practically screams, “HEAR THAT, EVERYONE? NO ONE? WHATEVER! BRODY IS GAY!” for the audience of you and whatever zombies his shitfit is attracting. Maybe getting drugged by freaks and running on no sleep and like, just the past few days on top of the past two years has finally cracked him. He’s clearly mental.

You wait for him to take a breath before smacking him upside the head and telling him he’s the moron and also, he’s wrong, and also shut the fuck up before he gets you killed.

There’s the unmistakable sounds of background noise -something largely absent from your lives these days. The sound of a lot of people moving en masse, uneven footsteps and shuffling feet, ragged breaths and grunts. Ted finally fucking shuts his big mouth. You don’t hear any of it clearly, just as they can’t have heard Ted through the double insulation of car and makeshift jacket/hoodie tent. Aside from the odd scrape against the windows or thump against the doors, there’s nothing to suggest they’ve noticed the car even exists, and the two of you stay quiet in the thick of what must be a herd of them.

The relative quiet is tense. It would normally be uncomfortable for outside reasons, but Ted is seething, and you’re not exactly chill yourself. And why should you be? What the actual fuck is wrong with him?

So, the thing is, maybe he isn’t making up the fact that it happened, but it’s the details that are important. You don’t talk about it and it was supposed to get ignored into oblivion, and he seemed to be on the same page about that as you. Plus, he’s wrong. It’s not gay to get your dick sucked, it’s gay to suck dick. Important difference that Ted is ignoring on purpose because he’s having a mental breakdown and taking it out on you for no fucking reason. 

Except… before he worked himself up, you were pretty sure he was trying to deflect. You squint through the darkness at him, as accusingly as possible, hoping he can tell from your body language, knowing he can’t. It’s fine. Fuck Ted. But like. Not. Like that. Not literally. It was one time and doesn’t count.

The urge to throw a screaming shitfit festers but unlike Ted you aren’t a fucking bitch baby and stupid, so don’t.

Instead you seethe, quietly, the two of you pressed as far apart as possible in the tiny space. One time you purposefully stretch and nudge Ted when he nods off, as a small fuck you. You’re not sure what he’s up to but it’s sus, and points to one obvious thing: Ted is lying about something. Or avoiding it. Deflection, man. You feel confident in this, but...

But another part of you wonders if maybe this is just a few months of built up frustration venting out the smallest crack into a controlled explosion. When your brain considers that maybe Ted has been tip toeing around this, not by mutual uncommunicated agreement, but because he’s been, what? Waiting for you to? Well. There is a tight knot in your stomach that you’d like to throw up, preferably on Ted, for making this happen. 

What were you supposed to do? It’s the apocalypse. Everyone is fucking dead and like, Ted is pretty enough, in the right lighting. He practically looks like a girl. And it’d been awhile, and Ted was there and you were getting along surprisingly well until…

It doesn’t matter. It’s not your fault. You had to freeze him out or he’d get the wrong idea and just. This. This is what happens! 

You rest your head on your knees and bitterly think about the last few days. Trying to be normal and do things, and have fun, and seeing people exist on more than scraps. A tiny voice you try to stifle says, maybe Ted was tired of scraps too. It was such a fucking mistake to give him that goddamn haircut. Maybe that was it. You cast around for any explanation, but worry about what it says on your end. It’s not -it was an intimate moment but not like that. You put your hands on him but it wasn’t weird. It was just a moment in time that you can’t stop playing in your head. Hand firm on the back of his neck. He’s the one who let you, and if he read into it, it’s his own fault. So you sit, quiet and angry, and doing your best to figure out how it’s all Ted’s fault, as he sleeps through the tumult of bodies jostling against the car like he has any fucking right to relax.

Time passes, the murmurs of noise wind down to faint whispers, but you remain on edge, and Ted remains asleep. At some point you doze yourself, burned out by anger and shame, but start at noise coming from the door beside you. When you settle from the jump, you hear it again, and this time it’s not dulled by sleep: something jostling the door handle.

There’s not time to dwell -not even time to kick Ted awake -when you hear a voice outside.

“Anyone in there?”


End file.
